


Vol. 1: The Moon Has Been Arising

by the_casket_girls



Series: Oblivion Hymns [1]
Category: A Court of Thorns and Roses Series - Sarah J. Maas, The Originals (TV), The Vampire Diaries (TV)
Genre: Accountability in Relationships, Aeron: I'm you but less problematic, Basically there are lots of types of relationships, Brief mention of non/con, Child Abuse, Complex Narrative, Dual POV, F/F, F/M, Female Friendships, Healthy Relationships, Hurt/Comfort, I know, Recovery, Rhys: Who are you, Seriously guys, This is complicated af, Women Supporting Women, but it's important to explore the darker parts of our imagination, friendships, heterosexuals, it's so unlike me, not explicitly shown, ye be warned
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-06-16
Updated: 2017-07-03
Packaged: 2018-11-14 19:08:09
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 5
Words: 29,049
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11214384
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/the_casket_girls/pseuds/the_casket_girls
Summary: Nine years ago, Aeron, son of Amarantha and her consort, Rhysand, is locked in the dark. His mother is dead, killed by the High Lord of Spring. Now, exposed to the cruelty of her former servants, Aeron is given an ultimatum: Help bring his mother back to life, or never see the light of day again. Aeron chooses Option C) Fuck you and the evil bitch you rode in on.Now, Hope Mikaelson is ripped from her home, her mate, and her life, thrust into a world she's never seen before, but which she knows with all her heart: Prythian. Left with a choice between giving in to her captors or dying in a land that is not her own, Hope chooses Option C) Fuck you and the evil spell you pulled me here with.





	1. Prologue

**Author's Note:**

> Greetings, all! A few housekeeping matters:
> 
> 1\. This is, if you're paying attention, a crossover between ACOTAR and the TVD/Originals world. However, many characters are introduced to either world for the first time, so there's a fair bit explained to them. You don't strictly have to have read/seen everything to understand this, but it will help;  
> 2\. The format for this work is that it is cut into "volumes", each with a prologue and four acts;  
> 3\. Credit where credit is due: The title of this series and the titles of individual acts are all songs by the band Hammock. The titles of the individual volumes are all taken from the German nursery rhyme "The Moon Has Risen";  
> 4\. I will do my best to update with a new act every week, but I am also currently working on an original piece (that is, if you'll believe, even more complicated than this piece of trash) as well as attending university and living a life;  
> 5\. That last part was a lie, I have no life, which leads me to  
> 6\. Please review! I know that's Typical Author Nonsense to say, but it really does help me get a grasp on how you're all doing with this, what's working, what's not, etc. I welcome constructive criticism and am fairly thick-skinned, so bring it.
> 
> Without further ado, here we go!
> 
> Thanks go to my glorious beta reader, J. Ace!

PROLOGUE

 

#  _The Silence_

 

 

_Nine years ago …_

 

It was a small darkness, the kind with close walls. Aeron knew each of the walls intimately—had traced them all so many times he was certain his fingerprints were burned into them, never to be separated from the stone that held him.

There was a comfort in those walls, Aeron knew. Lashings left hot, aching flesh for which the cold stone was a blessed relief. There was comfort in a prison when one knew how it held them, how it kept them safe. And Aeron’s prison had nursed him as a babe, raised him at its breast, built his understanding of the world in the darkness, in the cold, in the quiet.

Aeron’s prison had been his protection for as long as he’d had the eyes to see it, and it would remain his protection for as long as he kept breath in his lungs to fill it, never quite enough of it to banish the cold.

Even now, Aeron heard footsteps nearing his prison. His mother kept him deep in the mountain, further down than any knew to look. There was no chance that those footsteps belonged to anyone that didn’t seek him, and yet they were heavy—boots and rattling armour—and unaccompanied by the clacking of heels on stone or the swish of the long skirts his mother favoured.

Light slid under the door from a nearing lamp, the sliver of blazing gold too much for Aeron’s eyes. He covered his face with his hands, chains clinking at the movement.

Keys rattled on their ring as their holder selected one, and there was an ugly scrape as the key slipped into the lock. The heavy iron door groaned as it swung open, revealing more light that Aeron promptly hid himself away from.

“No need to shy away, boy,” said a deep, mocking voice that plucked a fearful chord in him, like the thickest string on a harp he’d once seen on one of his excursions out of the prison to the labyrinth above. “I’ve come to deliver you some good news!”

Aeron kept his head down, his gaze away from the monster at the threshold.

“It’s about your mother,” he said, stepping forward and bringing his lamp with him. It illuminated the prison, revealing the scratches on the walls, the claw-marks, the ruddy stains. The chains around Aeron’s thin, bruise-blackened wrists. The monster rested the lamp on the dirt-covered floor and knelt before Aeron so their faces were at the same level. “Aren’t you going to ask me what it is?”

The monster was so close that his breath ghosted over Aeron, the scent tart but earthy, like the wine his mother drank on special occasions. The wine he was never permitted to taste. The wine she’d poured over his whipped skin once, just to see how it would burn.

The monster shifted back a little. “Ah, well,” he said. “I suppose you’re not used to asking questions, are you, Aeron?”

Aeron did not dare to breathe, let alone answer. A good thing, then, that the monster so loved to speak. But then, all monsters did, in Aeron’s experience. His mother liked to speak most of all.

“Your mother is dead,” said the monster.

Aeron couldn’t help but look up into the burning light, into the monster’s pale, thin, lovely face. Even the gold that filled the room from the lamp wasn’t enough to bring colour to the monster’s cheeks.

“Killed by the High Lord of Spring,” said the monster, smacking his lips as though the words themselves were as delicious as the wine that lingered on his breath.

“What?” Aeron asked, his voice husky from misuse. It had been weeks since his mother’s last visit, weeks since he’d last spoken. Weeks since she’d pressed hot iron into his foot until his flesh hissed in the silence, in the quiet space left where he once would have screamed, but now no longer bothered.

The monster’s grin was vulpine as he continued. “As it turns out, wearing a pretty mask for half a century didn’t sit well with the beast. Then there was the whole affair with his human wretch—but no matter. The deed is done, your mother is dead, and all that is left now is to determine what to do with you …”

Aeron flinched as the monster neared him once more. The heat seeping from the body near him was unnatural here, in this room, where only his mother had tread before. Even the guard that delivered his food used a slot in the door to do it, terrified to so much as look upon him.

“Ask me what I’m going to do with you, boy,” said the monster. “Ask me what becomes of the son of the High Queen of Prythian when his mother is rotting in death and no one knows or cares that he even breathes.”

Aeron did not speak, because he did not know. He couldn’t imagine that it would be worse than his mother’s games were—than they had been, until she had died. Part of Aeron wished the High Lord of Spring had killed him, too, if only to free him as he took his mother.

“Speak, boy!” commanded the monster. It sounded as though he had stood and was looming above Aeron, but the boy made no move to look up and confirm this hypothesis.

Swallowing his fear down thickly and resigning himself to this new reality, the boy asked, “What are you going to do with me?”

“How good of you to ask,” said the monster, his voice like velvet once more. “And the answer is: Whatever the hell I want.”

Aeron dared to look up at the monster once more, leering and looming above him like a spectre.

“That’s right.” The monster reached forward, tracing his hand over Aeron’s wing where it hung useless and limp at his back. “You’re not the queen’s secret weapon anymore, lad. You’re just the whore’s bastard, and not even your father cares enough to scrape the mess of you off this floor. Everyone is gone, running off to their happily ever afters … but you and I, we’re going to have so. Much. Fun.”

Aeron didn’t let himself cry. There was no use in it—all it would do was expose him for what he was. Weak. Cowardly.

The monster dropped a dry, hot kiss on Aeron’s forehead and swept out of the room. His ash-grey cloak whipped behind him, barely avoiding being caught in the door as he slammed it shut.

 

* * *

 

_Now …_

Hope clicked the bedroom door shut behind her, letting out a deep breath she hadn’t known she’d been holding. The hall was lit with dim lights every few meters, though Hope hardly needed them; she knew the halls of this manor better than the veins and arteries that ran through her own body, knew each crevice better than the folds of her own skin.

Hope passed the art that lined the walls, all her father’s work. She ran a finger over a particular piece as she passed it, feeling the rough hatching of paint where her father had tried to capture the texture of the woollen clouds that threaded through a bright blue sky. In the painting, a winged figure was hovering off to the left, an odd-shaped mess of intertwined limbs with a ribbon of red hair, the same shade as her own, flying somewhere within it. The piece had originally been titled _On Swift Wings_ , but someone had come along and placed a sticky note over the ostentatious plaque Hope’s father had fixed beneath the piece, a note which now declared it _Overprotective Fatherhood: A Retrospective._

Many of the titles under the paintings around the house changed regularly, as had been custom since Hope’s childhood; she often wondered if her father kept putting the plaques up just so there was something there to stick notes on. For the renaming of this particular piece, Hope’s money was on Josie, the wittiest of her sisters.

It took some time for Hope to decide to move on; it was the dead of the night, after all, and she had no pressing place to be. The moon tugged at her as it always did, as it had when she’d woken in her bed to find its light clawing at her like fingers through the part in her bedroom curtains. Her husband must have known it would call to her, because he had anchored her to the bed with an arm over her chest; she’d extricated herself easily, ignoring his feeble protests. He understood her need to stroll under the full moon, of course. It was in her blood. He himself had a fondness for starlight, but he’d been out drinking with her uncles later than expected—celebrating the one-year anniversary since the bachelor party they’d held for him—and wasn’t likely to rise until at least six in the am, which was rather late for him. She’d have to tease him about it later.

Hope made her way down the staircase, her ears pricked for the slightest noise, as always. It was the middle of the school term, so the Armoury was packed full of children, all in the dorm rooms. An older room of girls—four teenagers in total—were up chatting, and Hope could hear their giggles from two floors down. As a responsible adult—not to mention one of their teachers—she should have gone up to scold them. But there was something in their tone, discussing boys and the first flush of love, that made her leave them be. It wasn’t so long ago that she had held similar discussion with her sisters in this very house, and how important that had truly turned out to be …

The door to the kitchen yawned open for her at the slightest touch, causing her to raise an eyebrow. It wasn’t wise to leave the doors unlocked—the younger children liked to raid the pantry—so she had to assume there was a reason for the oversight—

A reason that revealed itself to be her youngest uncle, asleep on the floor by the refrigerator. He didn’t smell too badly of alcohol—Caroline would kill him if he returned to the Armoury too drunk—but it had apparently been just enough to send him off to sleep right there, a whole floor away from his perfectly comfortable bed.

Stepping over him, Hope found herself at the back door, and slipped out.

She turned her face immediately up at the moon, not looking back at the door as she locked it, pocketing the key. She felt the wards click back into place even as she heard the deadlock drive home. Satisfied that the school was secure, Hope continued on her way.

Most of the terrain surrounding the Armoury consisted of open grass plains, perfect for a stroll under the full moon. Woodland edged in on one side of the property, sparse where it crossed their border, thicker on the other side. Hope had never met whoever owned the land beyond the fence, but she assumed that they didn’t mind her walking through it. She had been since she was eight years old, after all.

Hope stepped through the fence, passing through the wards around the property. There was a tang to the magic that permeated the Armory, something tangible that Hope never quite knew unless she was coming or going, crossing the threshold from within to without, feeling the difference for herself. Her sisters were better at sensing these things—as Gemini, concealment spells and protection charms were a part of their bloodline’s specialty, however much they’d missed out on the education given that the rest of their bloodline was dead. Or, in the case of Valerie, undead.

Moving deeper into the woods, Hope pulled her jacket closer to her—it was thick, lined with wool, and _very_ unfashionable, to the degree that she could feel her Aunt Rebekah’s indignation. Which was a feat in itself, as the woman was all the way in New Orleans, likely gazing up at the same moon as she whiled the night away on Bourbon Street.

Another thing Rebekah would’ve scowled at was Hope’s bare feet, which she proceeded to use to clamber up a crab apple tree. Her father theorised that there had been an orchard here, at some point, and here and there one could make out fruit trees aligned like stars in a shifting sky, so often cut apart from one another by invaders of oak and maple. Hope loved the overgrown orchard, had loved it since she was a child that had to be helped onto even the lower branches.

Now, she climbed boldly, as a matter of instinct, her bare feet gripping the wood and propelling her up until she was as high as she could safely go. Resting in the cradle between a sturdy, upturned branch and the trunk itself, Hope finally sat back, relaxed, and fixed her gaze on the moon, letting her bare feet drag through the crisp night air.

It was a tradition, Hope’s father had always told her when she was younger. “Wolves never wear shoes on the full moon,” he’d confided in her one night as they’d sat in this same place, gazed up at this same moon. “Not even the little ones.”

Hope knew it was foolish, knew that her father wasn’t even in the house—he was in New Orleans, with her fashionably disapproving aunt and all the bourbon he could drink—but somehow she knew that wherever he was, he wasn’t wearing shoes, either. Hope wasn’t one to break family tradition.

Predictably—but still, regrettably—the moon dipped in the sky, tiring of the view of the Virginia plains and all that laid beyond it. Hope pulled herself away from the serenity of its call, the intimacy between a wolf and her moon. She climbed down the tree, landing lightly on her feet in the dewy grass.

Now that she had torn her gaze from the moon, Hope noted that she did feel tired, after all. She’d be glad to be out of the cold and into the warmth of her bed, of her husband’s embrace. There was a comfort that came with the passing of the full moon, the ebb of her ill tempers, the fire in her blood that called for the kill that came with being a wolf.

Perhaps she wouldn’t waste this good mood on sleep, she pondered. Perhaps she’d wake her husband up instead.

Hope was barely a step away from the fence, busy with the wicked schemes running through  her head, when everything went black.


	2. Act I

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> THEN, Aeron tries desperately to adjust to the new normal he faces in a world without his mother.
> 
> NOW, Hope tries to figure out where she is, who she's with, what's she doing there, why they want her, and, most importantly, how she can kill them all in their sleep.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Act I, as promised! Thank you for the kind comments; I very much appreciate them.
> 
> As always, much thanks go to my beta reader, J. Ace!

 

ACT I.

 

#  _The Lonely Now_

 

 

_Nine years ago …_

The monster didn’t visit him for several more days.

Aeron was used to the loneliness—the solace in his own company, the knowledge that no one could hurt him but he himself. He was accustomed to the quiet, to the dark, to the walls that held him safe from those who would otherwise come for him.

Though he supposed there weren’t so many people that would come for him now that his mother was dead, her soldiers were scattered, and all she’d reigned over were free of her influence.

 _Free_ . What a ridiculous word. So small, so simple, yet it was everything Aeron had never imagined. To Aeron, _free_ was as rational a notion as some new, invented colour; in either case, he would never see it.

———

The monster came for him on the third day. This time, he whistled. 

The monster never would have dared to whistle while his queen still lived, but her death had loosened his lips and brought his jaunty tunes to the halls, right to the door of Aeron’s cell.

Upon entry, the monster surveyed Aeron like a beast catching its prey unawares, with the kind of still silence that precedes the chase, the leap, the kill.  “Hello, pet,” he purred, face split with a thin smile over his long, pointed chin. “How are you this morning?” His laugh filled the whole space. “I suppose you wouldn’t know what a morning is, would you? Have you ever seen the sun, boy?”

Aeron shook his head.

The monster stepped forward so his feet were right in front of Aeron’s line of sight, dropped to the floor as it was. “Would you like to?”

Aeron looked up at the monster, who was lit from behind by the torches in the hall outside. “What do you mean?” Aeron asked.

The monster grinned. “Come on, boy. Let’s go see the sunrise, shall we?”

———

Aeron had never been out of the catacombs before. 

His mother had kept him, her little secret, tucked away deep beneath the mountain, in all the places the heat never quite touched. He had been tutored there, trained there, raised there. Not once had Aeron stepped foot on the spiral staircase that led to the upper levels; not once had he even seen it in anything more than other’s minds and memories.

Until today.

The monster ushered Aeron up the stairs from behind, shoving him up with hard, calloused hands on his wings—wings that dragged along each step, having long lost the strength to hold themselves up without causing him unbearable agony. He couldn’t remember the last time he’d stretched them out to their full width. Didn’t think they could anymore.

The door at the top of the stairs was wrought iron, rusted at the edges like a page in an old, mouldy book. It swung open as they arrived at it, a hooded figure on the other side minding it, guarding it, waiting to ensure that Aeron was never permitted past it and into the world beyond.

Well, that was the guard’s purpose no longer, Aeron supposed. But it had been for so long.

The halls beyond were unlike anything Aeron had ever seen.

Thick, purple carpets lined the main, wider halls they stepped into, elegant candelabra dotting here and there. Aeron had seen opulence in clothing—his mother’s dresses, her jewels and cloaks, the finer clothing of the monster or the delicate detailing on the armour of her guards—but he had never witnessed such wealth in decor, in purely decorative objects.

“You haven’t seen anything yet,” said the monster, pushing Aeron forward on shaking legs.

They snaked through halls just like the one they’d come from. If he’d cared for his life, Aeron might have counted the turns as he went, marking his progress and building a map of this new territory in his mind. It wasn’t that Aeron had given up on caring for his life—he’d never really known how to to begin with.

They continued up and up until Aeron was so exhausted he thought he might collapse. He had never walked this far in his life, never been given the opportunity to build stamina like this. He’d only ever trained in magic, never in physical strength. He wondered if that was to deliberately sabotage any chances he had of escaping, should he be so inclined.

At the end of one last spiral staircase was a kind of light that Aeron had never seen before. The monster propelled him toward it, making him trip up the last few stairs, knocking his shins against the edge of one of the steps. He made no sound to indicate his pain, only pulled himself up by his arms and forced his way into the room atop the stairs.

The light was daybreak.

The room was small, three paces either way, and had windows on every side of it. They must have been at the very top of the mountain, with all sides visible for miles around.

Aeron was only interested in the east, where the sun crested, blazing its way into the sky. He stared at it no matter how much he wanted to look away—the candles throughout the halls below had done nothing to prepare his eyes for this light. Tears streamed down his face, whether from the pain of the light or from the joy of the moment, he did not know.

The monster, of course, did not care.

“I brought you up here for two reasons,” he began, pacing behind Aeron. “Ask me what they are.”

Aeron was in no mood to play this game, but now that he had been here, now that he had seen this light, there was so much more to lose. If the monster locked him away from the light forever, after having known it for this brief time, he knew he may never recover.

Dutifully, Aeron asked, “Why did you bring me here?”

“Well, first of all,” said the monster, moving into Aeron’s field of vision and leaning against a window, “I wanted you to see the new world, free of your mother, with your own eyes.”

Aeron wasn’t sure what purpose that served, but he kept quiet.

“Second of all,” continued the monster, “I have a proposition for you, and it’s a proposition best heard in the light of a new day. The dawn is … symbolic, in a way. I like the meaning behind it. The inevitability of a new day, a new reality, a new deal … It’s fitting.”

“What proposition?”

“As you’ve likely guessed, your mother’s people are in disarray. I’m afraid your father went on a bit of a rampage after her death and killed all of us he could find, but there were some he never knew, some he never met, and we’ve found a way to avoid his wrath. For now.”

  
Aeron drew into himself a little at the mention of his father. He’d never met him, but he’d heard the stories. The whore. The slave. The true monster that snarled from the end of his mother’s leash. If his father had turned against his mother’s people, was coming for them all in payment for her sins, then it was only a matter of time before he found him. Before Aeron paid for his mother’s crimes, too.

_Good_ , part of him said. _You should pay._

“There are some, still, who have returned to Hybern to inform the king of the loss of his general. And then there are those who remain here, where your mother made a home for us. Plotting, planning our next move—how best should we avenge our queen in this new world? Should we raze all that this new sun’s light touches, destroy everything they hold dear, everything that survived your mother’s reign? The others think we should, but … not yet. We have one last mission to undertake first. And for that, we would like your help.”

Aeron blinked. “My help?”

“See, Aeron …” The monster sidled closer to him. “The king your mother served under is a powerful man in possession of … unique artifacts. Unique artifacts capable of doing great and terrible things—remaking, reforming, even … reviving. If we bring your mother’s body to him, her remains, even a piece of her, then she may yet be reborn.”

Aeron’s stomach roiled. _No._ His mother had never let him have this, seeing the sun, seeing the light. If she had things her way, he would dwell in darkness forever. If she returned, that was precisely what he’d do.

“Naturally, a debate has been waged as to how best to manage this task. The riders dispatched to Hybern have had to travel light and fast, finding ships to take, sending word back to us when there are appropriate vessels available for us. We intend to split up into groups to bring the pieces of her back to our king in the hope that at least one part may make its return—for one part is all that the Cauldron needs to being your mother back. If the Grey Guard were to discover this venture, they’d hunt your mother’s remains down and burn them to ashes. We cannot be certain of our secrecy, but I believe, with your help, I can be certain of my party’s success.”

“How can I help?” Aeron meant it as a genuine inquiry, not an offer of assistance. The monster, of course, took it to be the latter.

“Good of you to offer,” he praised. “Your daemati skills are unparalleled, if your mother was to be believed. I myself am adept at shielding, but entering others’ minds—altering them at will—that is something I cannot claim to be able to do. And the Grey Guard, the servants of the High Priestesses—they are formidable daemati indeed. Should we run across them on the road, you can easily divert them. Especially now that your mother is no longer present to dampen your power at will.”

“You want me to travel with you?” _To aid in the revival of my mother?_

“You’ll have the sun on your face every day,” said the monster. “And, once we’re in Hybern, the king will likely wish to make use of your services in a formal capacity. I doubt he’ll confine you to the dungeons like your mother did.”

“But if she’s there, she won’t want me to be free.” She’d want him in another dungeon, another cell, another pair of chains. The monster had removed his shackles, he knew, but he still held his body hunched, his hands together as though they were still bound together with iron. _Illyrian iron_ , he corrected himself. His mother had made certain that he was cognizant of that fact.

“Even Amarantha was bound to our king’s will,” said the monster, something bitter in his tone. “If the king wishes to make use of you, it is not her place to argue. And if the king wishes to gift you the sun itself, then the sun belongs to you and you alone.”

Aeron wanted the sun. He wanted it so badly.

“What do I have to do?”

“With gifts like yours, we cannot be hunted without our knowledge. No surprise attacks on the road, no ambushes waiting for us at every corner—you can sense them, feel them coming for us, and you can stop them. We will move through the land and sea as though we were never there at all.

“I don’t have to fight?”

“You’re hardly trained for that,” the monster said wryly. “And besides—with you, we won’t have to fight.”

Aeron leaned forward, bracing himself on the window sill. His wings ached from standing so long, blood rushing down into the very ends of them and making them tingle. It had been too long since he’d moved them, too long since he’d _stretched_. “Why can’t I just go free?” he asked, his voice small.

The monster moved closer to him, pressing a hand over his dirty knuckles. “You don’t belong to you, my boy,” said the monster. “You belong to Hybern. It’s what you were born for, what your mother fucked that whore for, what she died for—we all know what you can do, what you will do. And you will do it for Hybern. For your people.”

 _Your people._ Aeron wondered, briefly, if he was about to be sick on the floor. “I’ll do it,” he said, his voice strangled. “I’ll do anything.”

The monster clapped him on the back. “Good lad. I knew you’d come around. And as a reward …” He reached for a latch beside the window, flicking it open. The glass opened out and up, sliding into somewhere else like an eyelid opening after slumber.

And then Aeron felt the wind.

For the first time in his whole life, Aeron breathed air that wasn’t stale, wasn’t fetid, wasn’t tainted. The air was fresh on his tongue, crisp in his throat, brought tears back to his eyes. His wings lifted just a fraction at the feel of it, something deep in him calling for him to leap through the window, into the air, no matter that he’d never flown before, no matter that he’d drop like a stone in water. At least he’d be free—

And then the monster shut the window once more, with such speed and force that Aeron sprung back as it narrowly missed his fingers.

“You can have more when we’re on the road.”

“When will that be?”

“Whenever I decide we’re ready,” replied the monster.

Aeron stood back to his full height and turned to face the monster. This male, the first male he’d ever known, one of the only faces he’d seen in so long, was offering him something. Not freedom, but … close. It was something more than what he had. It was a _change_. And Aeron wanted it, wanted it so badly he was embarrassed to find himself crying—not in joy at having it, but because he knew that this wouldn’t last. He couldn’t let it last.

Because the memory of the only kindness he’d ever known, of the words he’d clung to in the dark, all alone— _You’ll be free one day, my boy. They can’t hold you forever. And when the day comes when you feel the wind on your wings, you do something for me: You swear to me that you will never accept this again. Once you are free, you will never be anything but, for as long as you live._

And he’d promised. Oh, he’d promised.

So Aeron turned to the monster, sweetening his lie with tears that, to an outside observer, would have looked joyful, hopeful, when really they were only fear, determination, preparation for what he was going to have to do. “I’ll await your word,” he said.

“Good,” said the monster.

He was going to have to kill the monster, Aeron realised belatedly. He was going to have to destroy him to survive, to escape, to be _free_ at last.

And he wasn’t sorry to have to do it. Perhaps that made him a monster, too.

* * *

_Now …_

Hope opened her eyes to darkness and a pounding in her head.

She was being held upside down—dangled over someone’s shoulder, she thought, as she recognised the sensation, the press of blood pooling in her head, the rocking of footsteps that swung her whole body. It was like Marcel holding her when she was younger, spinning her around, holding her upside down while she squealed with delight.

Needless to say, she was not delighted now.

Nor was she squealing; she remained perfectly still, utterly limp, and did not utter a sound. She had no advantage here but surprise, and that was not something she was willing to give up.

Before she calmed herself, before she focused on the sounds, the smells, anything, Hope reached inside herself to that little thread, the bell-pull she could tug as needed to call for aid, any time, anywhere.

It wasn’t there.

The bond was gone. Not a trace of it, not a whisper of the thread, nothing. In desperation, Hope continued searching for it, like a hand groping in the dark for something that wasn’t even there. It was just—gone.

Something in Hope must have alerted her carrier to her consciousness, because the next thing she knew she was being dropped unceremoniously onto the ground.

“You can’t just drop her,” hissed a voice off to the side, something feminine but _not_. “Be more careful than that.”

The carrier loomed over Hope, their outline only visible by the stars they blotted out—they were outside, she noted absently.

“She’s awake,” they said—he, if the low pitch of his voice was any indication. “We should set up camp anyway.”

“We can walk through the dark,” replied the first voice.

“The human will need to eat,” said the carrier, his voice dispassionate even as he expressed a need—a need she didn’t feel, not even a little. She wasn’t hungry, or tired, or even particularly sore. Hope felt numb, lying there on the ground, part of her still desperately searching for the bond she couldn’t find.

“The human will be fine until morning. Just knock it out again.”

“You know we can’t keep doing that—”

“Quiet, both of you!” someone hissed, marching over. They stood above Hope, made entirely of shadow, seeming to sap all light around them. “Get her to her feet.”

Hope barely had time to protest before she was yanked up by her bound hands—she should have noticed that sooner, but she could barely think, barely _breathe_ through the absence inside her. She swayed precariously on her feet, head dizzy with rushing blood. She had to push past it, past the hollowness in her chest—it could be anything, could mean anything—and pay more attention to her surroundings. She was prepared for this. She’d been trained for this all her life. She’d faced worse.

But never with the hole in her heart where it was supposed to connect her to her love. Her mate.

The argument raged on around her, and eventually a piece of something—bread—was thrust into Hope’s hands.

“Eat,” grunted her carrier. “We aren’t stopping for long."

Hope did as she was told, mechanically, because they had called her _the human_. They thought she was weak. She couldn’t fight back yet—not in the dark, not like this. The moon had sunk too low for her to see by it, and she was too disoriented to make out much of her surroundings. They seemed inclined to keep her alive, the three of them—she couldn’t sense anyone else with her magic, which was weak, but there—so it made sense to play the part of a docile, weak little thing until she had the opportunity to surprise them.

Then, and only then, would she find out exactly what had happened to her mate.

* * *

_Nine years ago ..._  

Aeron had two days to prepare for the journey, he was told as he had his food delivered to him that night. Two days to get ready for what was to come.

As Aeron awaited their departure, he formed a plan.

They thought he was weak. Physically speaking, they were right. He could see himself in the guards’ minds—a weakling, all shrivelled wings and emaciated limbs, limp clothes and ribs prominent enough to count through his skin. He was weak, and he wouldn’t last long if left to his own devices.

But he had his magic—magic that his mother had fostered in him, cultivated, nurtured in a way she had never nurtured anything else. He was a daemati like no other, and the guards were unprotected when it came to powers like his. The monster was safe from him, but the guards … the guards were just as weak in mind as he was in body. Worse, even, because he _knew_ how to fight. He’d seen it in people’s heads, read it in their thoughts. Almost all the victims his mother had brought to him had been warriors, and he had seen such fascinating things in their heads.

He could fight. He just needed the chance to get stronger.

So Aeron waited in the dark, as he had for his whole life—twelve stars on the wall, all the Starfalls he remembered, because he always knew when it happened, always felt the cursed, Night Court blood in his veins call out at the falling stars, try to pull him toward them every year. He’d counted twelve Starfalls, twelve since he’d been old enough to decide to mark them down. He didn’t know how many had passed before then, but for each, he’d waited. He’d waited for so long, not knowing that he would ever have this opportunity. Not knowing what the wind tasted like, what it felt like on his wings.

But he knew now, and he was going to get it, all of it. Or die trying.

———

Aeron tasted the wind before he saw the light.

The tunnel they were exiting from was narrow, funneling the wind down it with strength enough to almost knock Aeron to his knees. He pulled his wings in painfully, trying to stop the loose membrane from catching on the gust and blowing him back into the guard member behind him. He got the sense that that wouldn’t end well.

It was mid-morning when they emerged, Aeron shielding his eyes from the light, the others merely blinking as they adjusted to it. Their party was five in total, including Aeron—three guards, all hooded but one with hands the colour of the preserved apricots his mother favoured, a colour that revealed them to be lesser Fae—and the monster, who walked with his face exposed to the light, with tight leather gear, perfect for fighting in, moulded to his body, and with a satchel swinging at his waist that must have contained his queen’s remains. All were armed but Aeron, which was just as well; he wouldn’t know what to do with a blade if he ever got his hands on it, anyway.

No. Aeron carried nothing but the clothes on his back, which had been gifted to him by the monster the night before. They were plain and ill-fitted, but the boots—he’d never had boots before—were sturdy and fit like a second skin on his feet. Good for travelling in, he guessed, but he didn’t know much about it.

The monster must have thought Aeron had halted to gaze at his surroundings in wonder, because he said, “You can look along the way. We’ve got to keep moving.”

The guard behind Aeron—the one with strong, amber hands—pushed Aeron forward, almost making him stumble. He could feel the threat posed by it, having a guard behind him at all times. Another reminder that he wasn’t free, not really.

Aeron continued walking, pretending to do as they all expected him to—staring at his surroundings, a slight look of vacant awe on his face. He knew what the outside looked like; memories of the outdoors were the first thing he looked for whenever his mother gave him a mind to test his daemati skills on. He’d probably seen more of the world than even the monster, who he was sure was as ancient as his mother had been.

So there was little interest in the outdoors for Aeron. He’d seen his first sunrise, felt his first gust of wind on his wings. He could not—would not—be awed by it any longer. He had more important things to focus on.

Like his escape.

He knew he had to wait for nightfall if he had any hope. His vision would be better than theirs then, he’d wager—if not because of his childhood in the cell, then because of his Night Court heritage. There had to be some part of him that would come awake in the dark of the night. He hoped.

And so Aeron walked along, biding his time, slipping through the minds around him like fingers in a stream, letting them go just as easily, shaking them off and moving onto another. He saw their memories, their fears, their paranoia—they were good soldiers. He could use that to his advantage.

The one behind him was lesser Fae—a dryad, in fact. She could feel the trees calling to her as she passed them, but remained firm and disciplined, her eyes only on the road before her, and Aeron’s back. Her thoughts were coloured with a distaste for Aeron, something linked to his father—he avoided her thoughts on him, as he had always avoided the ruminations of any mind who had encountered Amarantha’s whore. He had seen enough of his mother’s cruelty to last him a lifetime; he did not need to see his father’s, too.

There was something about the dryad’s mind, something twisted, that made Aeron pause within it. She didn’t think much about Amaranatha, he noted, which was odd, considering their intentions. No. She was entirely focused on a male, High Fae, with sharp features that never quite went into focus enough for Aeron to see them.

The remaining two guards were much simpler to puzzle out. They were related in some way—both primarily High Fae, but something darker, perhaps puca ran in their bloodline, or some other such dark Fae. Their minds were attuned to their surroundings and took no notice of Aeron’s journey through their thoughts.

No one noticed anything, not even the monster. They thought he was weak, pathetic, cowardly. He could read it in their minds, feel it in the way the dark ones looked back at him, sense it in the way the dryad ambled along, prodding him whenever she became bored.

All Aeron had to do was wait.

And so wait he did.

———

Aeron waited until nightfall, when they eventually halted to set up camp. The puca-fae set up a fire, and the dryad disappeared into the woods to hunt for dinner. Aeron sat on the ground, trying to give his aching muscles a rest before he used them again. Before he used them to _run_ at last.

The monster stood by Aeron, keeping half an eye on him as he watched over the puca-fae, who had removed their hoods and shown beautiful faces, male in appearance, though Aeron wasn’t certain that puca were gendered in any High Fae fashion. If the puca in them was strong, it was entirely possible that everything about their appearance was fiction.

Aeron waited until his wings stopped pulsing with pain, until the dryad returned with the hide of a deer slung casually over one broad shoulder, her hood also pulled back to reveal a face as reddish-orange as her hands, textured like leaves crushed underfoot. She had no hair.

He waited until the deer was speared and bound to a spit, hauled up above it by the puca. He waited until bread was brought from someone’s pack and passed around to all but Aeron, who sat on the fringes and tried to look afraid. (He was afraid.)

He waited until he could wait no longer, and then he struck.

Aeron speared himself into the minds of the lesser Fae, down through all the pathways he’d prepared for himself earlier. He thrust mental fingers into their thoughts, twisted, and pulled.

And then they sprung.

All three lesser Fae dove for the monster at once, attacking him. He was unprepared to face an attack from his companions, and reared back as the dryad brought a blade down at his throat.

Aeron didn’t stay to see what happened next.

Finally, finally, _finally,_ Aeron ran. And he ran for his life.

The woods whipped by him and he covered his scent as best he could, as he’d learned to. His mother had taught him how to hide, how to stay secret—he wouldn’t be much use to her as the spy she was training him to be otherwise. He could melt into the shadow, use it at will. In the dark, all was shadow, and Aeron made good use of it.

He wasn’t sure how long he ran for. His wings dragged behind him, catching on trees, on the floor, on anything—he’d never learned to tuck them away like his mother told him he should, but he was long used to them getting in the way, crashing painfully into doorways. He’d nearly lost all feeling in the very tips of them, the parts that always seemed to take the worst blows. The bone and tissue there was twisted back from too many knocks on walls, shriveled back and in on itself with misuse.

He could not fly, but he could run.

So run he did.

Aeron ran until his chest ached, until his breathing came shorter and shorter and the contents of his stomach—stale bread from lunchtime and some berries he’d found while they trekked—threatened to empty themselves onto the floor beneath his feet.

Heart hammering almost painfully at his rib cage, Aeron finally gave in to the need to rest. He tucked himself between two trees, out of the way, and doubled over to vomit his guts up. The resulting mess was red; whether this was blood or the remnants of the berries, he wasn’t sure.

Aeron was just gathering himself to leave when the blow landed.

It hit across his jaw, slamming him into the tree so hard his vision blurred. He struggled blindly, and that was when it happened.

Blinding pain in his wing, shredding, slicing through the membrane and holding it there, the cool kiss of steel against hot blood. Blinking through the tears, Aeron looked to his left wing, instantly finding the source of his agony.

It has been pinned to the tree beside him.

Aeron screamed like he hadn’t screamed in years, not since the beatings became regular, not since the broken bones had become a familiar part of his routine. No one had ever touched his wings like that, not even his mother.

“Oh, shut up, you mewling bitch,” said a voice he knew all too well.

Aeron tried desperately to keep himself upright, to stop his exhausted body from sagging and pulling at the blade through his wing. It kept him at an awkward angle, but he couldn’t let it slip through his membrane any further.

The monster gripped Aeron’s chin, forcing him to look up. The guards’ attack on the monster had been short-lived, apparently, as there wasn’t even the slightest trace of exertion on his face, no blood on him that belonged to anyone but his quarry. Aeron could smell the dryad’s blood on the monster’s tunic, enough of it to mean she was hurt badly, probably dead.

_She should have taken the monster with her._

“Did you really think that was going to work?” asked the monster, his tone incredulous. “Did you really think those guards could hold me, keep me long enough for you to escape?”

Aeron whimpered, trying to move away—but no avail, as he was still pinned.

“You can’t run from me, pet,” said the monster, running his hand down Aeron’s cheek. “You aren’t strong enough. You need me to survive out here. You need me to keep you safe.”

Had he not been in blinding agony, Aeron might have scoffed. _Safe._ The word meant about as much as _free_ had. It had no bearing on him; he would never be safe. He was bred to be used in this way, and so many others, and he would never be _safe_ from it.

But he wanted it. He wanted it as badly as anyone could want something they’d never had, something they’d never hoped to so much as understand.

“What did you think you could do?” asked the monster. “Did you think you could fly away? Perhaps once, but not anymore …” He gripped the blade stabbed through Aeron’s wing, twisting it. Aeron’s entire body convulsed with the pain of it.

“Please,” he begged hoarsely. “I’ll come back with you, I’ll do anything, just please, stop.”

“You can’t fly away, boy,” said the monster. “You can’t fly, and you can’t run. So how could you ever plan to get away from me?”

Aeron screamed as the monster twisted the blade again, the wood creaking and splintering under the blade, blood gushing down onto the forest floor to join the vomit. He threw his daemati power at the monster, seeking something, anything to latch onto, to pull himself back.

Miraculously, he found a crack in the male’s shields. He prised it open with mental fingers, slipping through and _in._

 _The little bastard,_ the monster seethed. _If he thinks he can run, I’ll take his legs. If he thinks he can fly, I’ll take his wings. I’ll take everything I want, until there’s nothing left but a mind and a prick. That’s all he’s needed for._

Aeron tried to take control, to shape the thoughts, to puzzle them out and twist them as he liked, but to no avail. The monster had let him in, he realised. He’d let Aeron inside, knowing there was nothing he could do.

Aeron reared back, physically and mentally, pain tearing through him as he pulled on his wing in the process.

There was nothing left to do. Nowhere left to run. The monster was right; it was over—

He couldn’t fly. He couldn’t run. But there was something else, something his mother had never dared teach him, perhaps because she knew that if he could do it, if he could escape, he would, _oh, he would—_

Aeron took a deep breath, steeling himself, and tried to imagine somewhere else, anywhere else. He’d seen memories of people who had done this before—he could replicate it, he knew he could. He just had to imagine somewhere else, and throw himself at it.

Nothing happened. His wing remained trapped, his body remained immobile.

And then the monster moved in on him in earnest.

A hit to the face, a blow to the ribs, lower, lower. A hit to the face, a blow to the ribs, lower, lower. Again and again, the monster rained blows down on Aeron in this pattern, leaving the boy a mewling mess that knew precisely where each hit would fall, unable to do anything about it.

Aeron tried to do it, tried to _winnow_ , but he couldn’t. He was trapped.

He cast one, longing look at his wing and knew what he had to do.

Aeron waited until there was a break in the blows, a moment in time when he just sagged there, pulling on his wing and dripping blood onto the forest floor from his nose and mouth. He waited until the monster stepped back to survey his good work.

And then he tore his wing from the tree.

With one, final scream, Aeron threw his mind out, not to a single place, not to a certain memory, but to one word.

 _Safe,_ he thought with his entire being. _Take me somewhere safe._

And he folded away into nothing.

* * *

_Now_ …

By the time the sun crested over the horizon, Hope knew everything.

Well, perhaps not everything. But enough.

She knew that they were travelling over relatively flat terrain, most of which was wooded areas punctuated here and there with broad, flat fields or grassy knolls. She knew that there were four members of their party in total—two women, a man, and herself. She knew that they weren’t human, werewolf, or witch. Vampires were harder to scent—something in their nature hid their scents away unless they were bleeding directly—so she wasn’t certain that they were free of that influence.

They smelled _other_ . They smelled vaguely of something for which she only had a single reference point. They smelled _fae_.

She had a sinking feeling that she knew exactly where she was.

Each had their hoods drawn and were covered, head to toe, so Hope had little chance of seeing them. But she studied the lines of them, the height, the width, the angles, the gaits—one of the women, the one that seemed to be in charge of their group, had a slight limp, but there was no scent of fresh blood on her, not even the sour scent of old blood pulled to the surface of a bruise. So it was an old injury, then. She was either not of a race with accelerated healing, or the injury had been a terrible one indeed.

Either way, it was a point of weakness that Hope fully intended to exploit.

Just as soon as she stopped feeling the need to vomit. A need which had been building for hours, but was culminating now.

“Put me down,” she wheezed, still hanging upside down as she was. “Put me down.”

The man scoffed.

Hope beat at his back with her fists, being sure to keep her strength under control so as to maintain the facade of her mortal weakness. “Unless you want my sick down the back of your shirt, you’ll put me down this instant.”

The man did so instantly, stepping back just in time to avoid the blast radius of Hope’s stomach contents being emptied on the rich earth beneath their feet. She heaved, again and again, cursing herself. She may not have been in such a precarious situation before, but she’d hoped to handle it with more aplomb than nervous retching.

“Are you about done?” asked the woman. The leader.

Hope turned to her, catching a glimpse of her chin beneath the hood. Was her skin … green? She must have been seeing things. “I’m sorry if my vomit is inconveniencing you,” Hope said. She wiped her mouth with the sleeve of her jacket as she moved to her feet—her bare feet, she noted absently. Wolves didn’t wear shoes on the full moon, but it might have been nice if wolves wore shoes when being kidnapped and dragged across the middle of nowhere.

The possibly green woman turned away, her eyes back on the direction they were travelling in. “We’ll stop for a break in an hour. You can walk yourself in the meantime.”

“Thank you for the privilege,” Hope spat, hoping her rotten breath carried over to the woman. It was the closest she could come to harming her just yet.

The man that had been carrying her now walked behind her, his presence at her back disconcerting, but nothing she couldn’t look beyond. She focused on the women ahead, on discerning the connection between them. They worked well together, one stalking ahead of the other, occasionally motioning to the other with a tilted head or short hand movement. They were familiar with one another, but in what capacity? Friends? Family? Comrades? Lovers?

Whatever it was, she hoped it was enough to make them care for one another’s life. As long as they cared, she could use it against them. As long as they cared, she could hold a blade to one’s throat and have the others by the throats all the same. Any link between them was as much a vulnerability as the leader’s limp.

Hope would take whatever she could get.

She spotted a sharp, broken stick on the ground and feigned falling, tripping over her own feet. It meant she had to slam herself into the ground to maintain the ruse, but it gave her enough time to slip the stick into her sleeve. It wasn’t much, but it would hurt like a bastard when she plunged it into someone’s guts. Preferably the guts of the one who kept shoving her up the path.

Hope made a show of whimpering as the man picked her up by the shoulders, depositing her back on her feet and shoving her along. In front, the women hadn’t even slowed down, trusting the man to keep Hope in line.

Fools.

As Hope demonstratively checked her hands over for injuries, hissing as she found scrapes along her palms, she caught sight of her wedding ring, gleaming in the early morning sunshine. It was a simple band, twisted in one point; she didn’t wear her engagement ring because there had never been one to start with. Just the plain elegance of her wedding band, and the matching, slightly larger one that rested on the finger of her husband. Her mate.

It was her wedding anniversary, she noted absently. Her husband had been out with Kol until late celebrating the anniversary of his bachelor party, and today they were meant to be spending the day together in between classes, then going out to dinner under the stars that night. One year to the day since they’d said their vows in the rickety St Anne’s Church in New Orleans.

Hope found herself blinking back tears—tears that, admittedly, helped her “helpless human” act somewhat.

And down into the space, that void where the bond had once rested, Hope whispered, _Happy anniversary, Aeron,_ praying that, somehow, it carried to him.

* * *

_Nine years ago …_

Aeron unfurled back into being a full three feet above the ground, crashing into it with a thump.

He grunted in pain. The entire front of his body ached and pulsed; his ribs were cracked, his pelvis almost certainly shattered. His nose was swollen and bleeding, his mouth a pulpy mess. And through it all his wing, _his wing_ , was the most painful of all.

Aeron tried shifting back up on his haunches to avoid resting on anything painful, but everything hurt, everything ached, and nothing could make it better.

And so he fell back, landing on his wings, feeling the pain worsen, knowing that it would never stop, not until his heart finally stopped beating. He laid back in the darkness, gazing up at the stars above him—stars he could only see through the branches of a tree. He hadn’t seen the stars yet. Not really, not properly. He hadn’t looked up at them like this, taking notice of them, just existing within the night. He’d only been fleeing beneath them before.

Now, he accepted, he was dying beneath them.

The moon hung there, too, and Aeron found himself gazing up at it most of all. It wasn’t a pure white, as he’d seen in a tapestry of the night sky his mother kept in her chambers—it was pocked with grey, with craters and imperfections that lent it depth, that kept his interest.

He didn’t hurt anymore.

Aeron laid in the grass, alone with the moon and stars, and accepted his fate.

A cry lit the forest.

Aeron snapped out of his reverie, struggling up to his elbows. He heard footsteps, twigs snapping under light footfalls, and whirled in the direction of them.

A girl was running through the woods toward him, her hair as red as blood or berries, skin as pale as the moon above them. Her feet were bare, her hair was wild and loose, and her eyes, pale blue, had somehow caught the light.

Had caught him.


	3. Act II

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Why yes, this is an early update. No one is more surprised than I am.
> 
> Thanks go to my beta reader, J. Ace, as per the usual.

ACT TWO

 

#  _ No Trace … No Shadow _

 

_ Nine years ago …  _

The girl hesitated for only a moment, just long enough to blink. Then she ran for him.

She tore her bulky shirt over her head, revealing a smaller one, and landed on her knees beside him. She reached for him immediately, her fingers going to the hem of his shirt.

Aeron grunted, trying to pull away from her, but she wouldn’t let him. “I’m trying to help you,” she said, ignoring his feeble attempts to stop her. She gripped the thin material of his shirt and tore it, revealing his abdomen, the entirety of which was already purpling with bruises.

“Shit,” the girl said under her breath as she took in the state of him. “Shit, shit, shit.” Her eyes coasted over his face, along his shredded wing. “I’m going to go get help. Here,” she paused, handing him the shirt she’d removed. “Press this against your … your wing. It might stop the bleeding.”

Lacking the strength to so much as lift a hand and take the shirt from her, Aeron merely grunted in reply. The girl sighed, reaching to press the shirt to his wing herself. He whimpered, loudly and fully, pulling away from her before she could touch it.

“If you won’t let me, then do it yourself,” she said, pressing the bundle of material into his hands. “I’m going to get help. I’ll be right back, okay?”

And she was gone.

——— 

Aeron spent another ten minutes lying in the woods and awaiting his final death, before footsteps sounded again. They were faster than they should have been, lighter on the ground than they had any right to be, and were headed his way.

A woman stepped into his view. His vision was blurred by that point—by tears, or perhaps just exhaustion—and so he couldn’t make her out properly, but her hair caught the moonlight, shining almost silver, and she knelt in front of him slowly and with a grace that the girl had not possessed.

“Oh,” she breathed, her voice barely breaking the silence. “What happened to you?”

Aeron didn’t reply; he didn’t think she expected him to.

She moved toward him and must have noted how he flinched. “It’s okay,” she said, raising hands in the air innocently. “My name’s Caroline. Caroline Mikaelson. I’m here to help you, all right?”

More footsteps approached, and the girl reappeared, breathless from having run to catch up with the faster woman. Caroline.

“What’s your name, sweetheart?” asked Caroline.

“Aeron.”

“Okay, Aeron, do you think you can walk?” she asked. “It’s all right if you can’t. I can carry you. You might need to help me a little, though. With the wings.”

Aeron swallowed thickly, tasting blood. “Just leave me.”

“I can’t do that,” she said. “You’re hurt, and you need help. Please, let me help you.” She reached forward, causing Aeron to spring back again.

“Don’t touch his wing,” said the girl, hovering just on the edge of the scene.

“Hope,” said Caroline, looking up at the girl. “I need you to go back inside and wake up your aunts, and then Ric as well. Tell them what happened, but tell them not to come out here; I’ll get him inside myself. And make sure you tell Aunt Keelin it’s an emergency, and we’ll meet her in the infirmary. Okay?”

The girl, Hope, seemed hesitant. “I can stay with him, I can help—”

“Hope, sweetheart, this is one of those times where you can’t argue with me. Go inside and do as you’re told. Now.”

The girl must have left, as Caroline turned back to Aeron. “All right, sweetheart. Is your right wing hurt like your left is?”

Aeron managed to shake his head.

“Okay. I’m going to need you to pull it in close so I can pick you up on that side. We’ll try to not to drag your hurt wing on the ground, but for now we just need to get you in out of the cold. All right?"

Without waiting for his confirmation, Caroline moved over to his right side, gripping his arm and pulling him upright a little so there was space for him to fold his wing away. It took effort—he barely used his wings to begin with—but he managed it. Caroline tucked one arm under his knees and the other behind his shoulder blades, hand stuck in his armpit on the other side to keep from slipping. And then she lifted.

The change in position shot pain through Aeron’s entire torso and he cried out, hands curling into fists as he fought to stay still in Caroline’s arms. She wasn’t human, that much was clear, and the way she navigated the distance they covered with light steps and minimal stumbling told him that she could carry weights much heavier than him.

The pain returned with each step, and Aeron belatedly wondered if it was deliberate. If perhaps this was some fresh torture, something to make him think he was being healed and protected when in fact he was being taken back, back to the monster, back to Hybern.

Mustering up the last of his strength, Aeron threw his daemati powers out to sift through Caroline’s mind. He met a wall initially, and heard her surprised intake of breath over him. Then, to his surprise, the wall fell away, and,  _ It’s okay,  _ was whispered into his mind.  _ You’re safe, I promise. You can check.  _

Aeron threw himself into her mind, and everything was sharper, more primal all of a sudden. It was like being in the mind of an ancient fae, but it didn’t feel nearly as cruel. Through her eyes, he could see the building looming ahead, the lights on, the shape of the girl in the doorway. Caroline looked down at Aeron and he saw himself, felt her pang of regret, her anger at the sight of his wing, her desperate need to get him inside where it was safe.  _ Safe, safe, safe. _ He latched onto the word, and she must have felt it, somehow, because she said aloud, “Yes, Aeron. You’re safe here.”

Aeron barely had the presence of mind to pull out of her thoughts before he fell into unconsciousness.

* * *

_Now …_

The women were not lovers, nor were they family—not by blood, in any event. Hope had been wishing for at least one of the categories to be accurate, but they appeared to be entirely different species and showed no affection to one another. The extent of their interaction was nods and short commands from the green woman, who the man eventually addressed as ‘Andra’. 

They stopped as the sun began to dip. Andra ordered the others to find something for them to eat, then turned to Hope. “You’re going to help me build a fire.”

“Why would I help you?”

Shrugging off her cloak, the woman revealed her green skin in almost all its glory, her clothing minimal and apparently not required to keep her warm in the increasingly chilly evening air. “Because you don’t want to freeze tonight.” She unsheathed a blade from its place at her back; it was long and thin, razor-sharp and definitely lethal. 

Hope wondered how hard it would be to take from her in the dead of the night. 

“I’m going to chop wood. You’ll bring it back here to the clearing.”

“How do you know I won’t run?”

“I don’t,” said Andra, inspecting her blade boredly. “I just know I can hunt you down if you try.” She turned crimson eyes on Hope, locking her in place. “So don’t.”

Hope nodded, pretending to be cowed, and followed Andra deeper into the wood. She didn’t think the blade was suited to wood chopping—she’d seen Uncle Elijah break an axe on a thick piece of wood once, and this blade was certainly flimsy compared to the blade he’d used then. But the metal shimmered in the fading sunlight, giving off an otherworldly glow, and, sure enough, Andra sliced an entire branch three times as thick as Hope’s forearm clean off. It fell to the ground with a thud, and she chopping it into manageable pieces with four easy strokes. 

“Well, go on,” Andra said impatiently, waving Hope toward the line of wood pieces. “Carry them back to the clearing and make a pile. I’ll organise the fire myself later.”

Hope lifted two pieces, one in each arm, and weighed the possibility of throwing them at Andra. She could hit her in the face and the leg, disorienting her, aggravating her old injury. She’d probably drop her sword then, and Hope could grab it and knock her head clean off. Easy.

But the others would still be out there, and they’d hunt her down, of that she had no doubt. And Hope may have been a wolf, but she wasn’t actively cursed yet; her instincts were raw at best, and she didn’t know this territory. Not like they seemed to.

No. She had to kill them all at once. Especially considering what triggering her wolf curse was likely to do to her magic, making her a beacon to anyone who wanted to find her. She had to wait.

If Andra noticed Hope’s scrutiny, she didn’t comment, simply continued slicing at the tree. Hope hefted the pieces of wood in her arms and walked away, headed back for the clearing.

* * *

_Then …_

Aeron became aware of his surroundings in bits and pieces. The ceiling was tiled and clean, so sterile the smell burned his nose. But the blood was rushing to his head and there was a weight on his chest, but none on his wings, so he had to be upside down, surely, so the ceiling was actually the ground. But how could he see it?

He must have made some sort of noise, because someone else in the room moved closer. 

“Aeron,” said a voice he recognised, a voice he’d heard in his own mind before he’d black out. Caroline. Her feet came into view, and then she was kneeling down, peering up at him. He could see her better in this light, cold as it was, her blonde hair and blue eyes that smiled even as she took him in with sympathy. Nothing like his mother. Nothing like the monster. “Aeron, are you with me?” 

Aeron grunted in response.

“It’s all right, sweetheart. You’re all right. We’ve got you on a massage table so you can still have your face exposed while there isn’t any pressure on your wings.” 

It was then that Aeron noticed that there was no pain in his torso, and his face felt fine. 

“We’ve mostly gotten you healed up,” Caroline continued, sitting down so she was cross-legged. “But there seem to be some problems with your wings. You kept folding them in and tucking them underneath you in your sleep, and it opened up the stitches on your injured wing. We had to put you like this just so we could give the wound some time to settle.”

Aeron tried to speak, finding his throat dry.

“Oh, sorry, sweetheart. Here.” Caroline disappeared for a moment, returning with a cup filled with water and a long stick poking out of it. “It’s a straw,” she said, noting his confusion as she pointed it up at him. “Just grab it and suck, and you can drink the water without spilling it.” 

The water smelled clean, cleaner than anything Aeron had ever had to drink. He sealed his lips around the straw while Caroline held the cup steady, letting him drink. It tasted just as clean on his tongue as he expected, and he drank the whole lot.

“I can get you some more in a minute,” said Caroline. “But it’s best not to drink too much all at once. You’re just getting back to us, after all.”

Aeron cleared his throat, finding it easier now. “Where am I?”

“Well, there are a couple of names for it,” began Caroline, setting the cup aside. “The Salvatore Boarding School, officially, but most people just call this the Armory. It’s a safe place for magical children that need one. And you seem like you fit that description just at the moment.” 

“They’re going to come for me,” said Aeron. “You should just give me to them.”

Caroline didn’t react visibly, but Aeron heard her heartbeat ratchet up a level. “Who is coming for you?” she asked, a deadly calm in her voice. 

“Hybern.”

“Hybern? Never heard of them. Are they like you? Wings and everything?” 

“You don’t know about Hybern?” Aeron asked. 

“Should I?” asked Caroline.

Aeron felt panic rise in his throat. “Where am I, exactly?” 

“I told you, you’re at The Salvatore—” 

“No, not the building. The land. What Court is this?” 

“Court? This is Grove Hill, Virginia. America.” She examined his face. “You don’t know where any of these places are, do you?” 

“I haven’t travelled very far from home before,” Aeron said. It was the first time he’d called Under the Mountain “home”. The first time he’d had anywhere to compare it to, because it had been all he’d known for so long.

“And where is home for you?” 

Aeron weighed his options. His mother had lots of enemies, all of them well and truly earned. If Caroline did somehow know who Amarantha was, it might not be safe to tell her anything about who he really was. 

Apparently noting Aeron’s hesitation, Caroline continued, “It’s okay if you need to go into my head. I know you did that last night, to check on me, and I understand if you need to do it again just to be safe.”

Aeron blinked. He’d never had someone’s permission to enter their mind before. It had always been a this mother’s behest, and entirely against their will. “Maybe another time,” he said. “I’m not sure if I can right now.” He was feeling fairly weak, admittedly, but if he was being honest it wasn’t anything to do with that. It was more the memory of her voice in his head, telling him he was safe. He didn’t think he could handle that again.

“Do you know how you got here?” Caroline asked. 

“I winnowed,” said Aeron.

“I don’t know what that is.” 

For someone that obviously wasn’t human, she was sure doing a good imitation of one. “Moving from one place to another quickly. Folding through space to get somewhere else. I think usually you have to have seen where you’re going before so you can imagine it in your mind and go there. I don’t know how I ended up here.”

“What did you imagine?”

“Somewhere safe.” 

“Well, that’s exactly where you got yourself,” Caroline said, both a statement of fact and a promise. “Maybe you don’t just have to remember places. Maybe you can remember feelings, too, and then send yourself somewhere like that.”

“I’ve never been anywhere safe before.”

Something passed behind Caroline’s eyes, there and then gone. “Well,” she began, a quiver in her voice, “you are now. You’re safe here, I promise. I don’t know what happened, and you don’t have to tell me unless you want to. But I can promise you, Aeron, you are safe in this school. You are safe in my home.”

Aeron wasn’t ready to go into her head and see if she was lying or not. Maybe later, he told himself. “What are you?” he settled for asking.

“I’m a vampire,” Caroline answered promptly. At Aeron’s blank expression, she smiled softly, not a hint of mockery in it. “I take it you don’t have those where you come from?” 

Aeron would have shaken his head if he’d been able to move it. It registered that he’d never considered moving from the table he was laid on. He was too exhausted to be much use if he did, but as it was he was relatively pain-free and more comfortable than he’d been in his life. 

“The long and short of it is that I’m, well, dead.” Caroline winced a little. “But also not really. Undead is more correct, but I don’t like the term. I was born human, but I was turned into a vampire by ingesting another vampire’s blood, which carries the … disease, or curse, or whatever you want to call it. I took the blood, and then I died, and then I came back as a vampire. I drink human blood to survive, but not too much and I don’t hurt people to get it. I mostly just steal it from blood banks—” 

“Blood banks?” 

“Don’t have those where you come from either, huh? A blood bank is where we store donated blood here. Humans give blood to be given to other humans if they’re hurt and in need of more blood to replace any they’ve lost. I steal from the blood bank every now and then so I can drink that blood rather than drinking from real people and hurting them.” She raised an eyebrow at him. “You don’t seem as bothered by that as I expected.”

“I haven’t met many people that try not to cause any harm.”

Caroline tilted her head to the side, pursing her lips. “Do you try not to hurt anyone?” 

Would she still welcome him into her safe place if she knew what he’d done? Was a safe place still a safe place if it took in a monster like him? “I’ve never chosen to do it.”  _ Liar _ , something whispered.

“Who chose for you?”

Aeron avoided her gaze, but she followed his eyeline with her head, making sure their eyes stayed locked. 

“It’s okay, Aeron,” she said. “Whatever happened in the past, happened in the past. All I need to know is that you won’t hurt anyone here.” 

“I wouldn’t.” 

“Because my daughters live here,” Caroline continued. “I made this whole place for them, so they could be safe. I can’t let anyone in here that would hurt them. So I’m just going to let you know that there are some really powerful people in this house, and that these powerful people keep a close eye on anyone new that comes to stay here, just to make sure that things stay safe. And I’m not threatening you, Aeron, because I want you to understand that, while you’re under this roof, these powerful people are looking out for you, too, and we’re all making sure you stay safe. But you need to understand that if you’re lying to me, and if you do hurt anyone here, we have the means to stop you. Okay?” 

Aeron didn’t know what to make of it—didn’t know how he could possibly fight anyone with Caroline’s strength, let alone multiple people with that strength. But if they were all like her, and they could all fight, then maybe they wouldn’t be in as much danger if the monster found him here. Maybe they wouldn’t get hurt. “Are there more vampires here?” 

“A few, and all of them are even more powerful than I am.” 

“And the rest are … human?” 

“Only one or two. Most of the teachers here are witches or werewolves.” She noted his confusion, and continued, “Witches have magic, and can cast spells, curses, make wards, that kind of stuff. Werewolves are basically humans under a curse witches put on their bloodlines a long, long time ago, and once they trigger their curses they turn into wolves whenever the moon is full. They’re also a bit stronger than usual, and have heightened senses once their curses are active.” 

“You said the other vampires are more powerful than you,” said Aeron. “So why are you in charge?” 

Caroline smiled. “Because I’m good at it.” Her smile faded, replaced by a contemplative look. “Someone’s coming,” she announced, and then Aeron heard the footsteps as well. “It’s your doctor, the one who’s taking care of your health. She’ll introduce herself when she comes in, but you should know that she’s a werewolf, and she’s very good at her job. Okay?” 

The opening of a door somewhere to his right made Aeron intimately aware of just how much of the room there was that he hadn’t investigated yet. He tried to pull himself up, finding his arms weak and ineffective in the attempt to push himself up off the table.

“Hang on, hang on,” said the new voice, a deep, raspy woman’s voice that came with warm hands on his clothed arms. “You can sit up, just let me help you.” 

She did as promised, Caroline hovering nearby to help him if he tipped off the other side of the table. Cold air hit the small of his back; they must have cut the bottom of a shirt open to slip it over his wings. From his new position with his wings hanging over the side of the table behind him and his legs dangling on the other side, Aeron examined the newcomer: a woman with dark skin, thick, black hair piled high on her head and a white coat slung over dark blue, loose-fitted clothes.

“It’s nice to see you awake, Aeron,” greeted the woman. Caroline had called her a doctor, and she seemed to be this land’s version of a healer. Aeron had only seen a healer once, when his mother had lost her temper and his injuries had been so severe there’d been cause to wonder whether he’d survive at all. “I’m Dr. Mikaelson, but you can just call me Keelin.”

Mikaelson? Aeron looked between the two women, both of whom stood in front of him. They shared the same family name, but none of the same features.

“We both married into the Mikaelson name,” Caroline explained before he had the chance to ask.

_ Married _ . It was a human custom, and not one Aeron was familiar with. He couldn’t imagine the point of it, personally. 

“All right, Aeron,” said Keelin, removing the device she had slung over her neck like a half-necklace. “How are you feeling right now? Any pain?”

Aeron dodged the large, flat edge of the device when she moved it toward him. “What is that?”

“It’s  a stethoscope,” said Keelin.

Aeron continued eyeing it with suspicion.

“Don’t have those where you’re from either, huh?” asked Caroline. “It’s to help her listen to your heart.”

“Why would you need to do that?” 

“To check that your heart rate is healthy,” replied Keelin. “I can also check on your breathing, and tell if your lungs are clear. Everything sounds fine to me from here, with my enhanced senses, but I prefer to use the stethoscope just to make sure.” She looked over him warily. “You’re sure you’ve never seen one of these before? They’re pretty common.”

“I haven’t seen many healers in my life.”

Keelin’s mouth pinched. “You look like you could have benefitted from a few visits over the years. They don’t have healers that can help with your wings where you come from?”

_ None my mother would consider paying to see to me.  _ “It wasn’t practical,” he said.    


“Well, it’s practical now,” said Caroline. “Keelin helped heal you so far, and she can make sure you’re all right from now on.” The two women exchanged a brief look before Caroline turned back to Aeron. “I should probably leave you two alone. I’ll be just outside, and you can call if you need me.”

Aeron didn’t have it in him to protest, though something in him wanted to. Where did that come from? He hadn’t wanted someone to stay in a very long time—had spent most of his time wishing his companions would leave, in fact.

Left alone with him, Keelin turned back, her stethoscope still held loosely in her hands. Sighing, she grabbed what appeared to be a stool on wheels and rolled it in front of Aeron, sitting down on it. Her white coat fell around her and obscured the small seat, almost making it look like she was floating. 

“Aeron,” she began. “May I call you Aeron? I don’t know if you’ve given us your last name.”

“Just Aeron.”

“All right, then. I gather you’re not from around here, and there may be some things about your physiology that I haven’t seen before. But I am a doctor, and I’m not unused to new challenges, given the place where I work. I trust that Caroline has filled you in on the function of this school?”

Aeron nodded.

“Because the school houses a lot of supernatural children, I reside here on call to tend to anyone that’s injured. It doesn’t happen often, but when it does, it’s important to have someone here. I specialise in trauma medicine—officially I was trained as an ER doctor. That’s someone who deals with people that come in for immediate medical treatment, often because they’ve been injured, or are seriously ill.

“Obviously, you fell into the former category. When Caroline brought you in here you were unconscious, so I put you on the table as best I could without bending your wings and assessed your injuries. How much would you like to know about what I found? As I’m sure you can see, you are mostly healed now, with the exception of your wing. We can talk about your treatment as little or as much as you like.”

Aeron wasn’t sure why she’d ask him, so he just shrugged.

“All right, I’ll keep you informed. But you can ask me to stop, if you want. It’s important that you understand what I’ve done and what I’m here to help you with, but it’s all still up to you. You were hurt pretty badly, and I don’t want you to feel like you’re not in control here. You’re recovering, physically and otherwise, and everything about that is up to you. Okay?”

Another nod from Aeron prompted her to continue.

“Upon assessing your injuries, I found massive internal bleeding, three broken ribs, and a fractured pelvis. There was significant swelling to your face, and your nose was broken at an alarming angle.

“Here at the Armory, we are very careful about our use of magical objects to aid in healing. They come with drawbacks, ramifications that we don’t always understand, and so we find it best practice to stick with medicine when treating patients. However, in cases where a life is at risk, we are at liberty to use vampire blood to heal injuries at our own discretion. This is a part of the agreement we have with the parents of the children here, and as you became a child in our care the moment you stepped foot on this property, we felt that it applied to you, too. You have our apologies if this was in any way overstepping, but I do believe it was necessary.”

“You gave me vampire blood?” asked Aeron. “Caroline said she’s a vampire.”

“She is, yes. It was hers that you were given. We used a minimal amount, and it has already left your system with no lasting effects. I’m not sure how much she told you about the use of vampire blood and vampires in general, but there is no danger of you becoming one. The only purpose it served was healing you.”

“Why are you explaining all of this to me?” asked Aeron. “Why bother?” 

Keelin’s gaze softened, her eyes creasing at the edges. “Caroline would phrase it better,” she said, “but I’ll give it a go. Here at the Armory, we put a lot of emphasis on autonomy, on people owning themselves. Because we train children how to control their magical gifts, we try to make sure we foster an atmosphere that teaches them about their rights, others’ rights, and the importance of upholding both. You may be a teenager, but that doesn’t give you less of a right to know what’s going on with your body. Especially because you were just unconscious for several days in a new place with new people, and you have no real reason to trust us. We don’t lie to people, especially not those we’re committed to taking care of.”

Aeron mulled this over for a moment. His mother had never asked, never explained. No one had, not really. And why should they? “That seems like a lot of effort.”

“It’s worth it,” countered Keelin. She held the stethoscope up once more. “Now,” she said. “Would you like to see what this does? You can use it first, if you like.”

Aeron frowned. “What do you mean?”

“You can use it to listen first,” said Keelin. “Just put these”—she pulled two long, thin metal prongs apart—“in your ears, and put the other part against whatever you want to listen to. Do you want to try?”

Aeron accepted the item from her tentatively, careful not to let their fingers brush. Flushing under her scrutiny, he inserted the prongs into his ears, finding them covered in something like leather, but not. He held the circular piece in his hand and placed it against his wrist.

“It’ll work better if you try your heart,” Keelin advised.

Moving the metal up under his shirt, Aeron was struck with the sound of his heart, thundering in his ears like when he was terrified, when, in his mother’s chambers, he’d be beaten so severely all he could hear was that single sound to remind him he was still alive, that he had not yet descended into the hell he was certain he was destined for.

Ripping the device from his chest and his ears, Aeron heard his shirt tear more at the back just with the violence of the action. The device clattered to the floor.

Keelin picked it up silently, the stool squeaking as she shifted her weight. She tucked it into a pocket in her coat, out of sight. “I should’ve warned you it would be cold.”

Aeron pulled air through his clenched teeth, his hiss a comfort to his ears. “It’s fine,” he said, trying to calm himself. He’d learned how to slow his heartbeat long ago, when his fear had spiked so much excitement in his mother and her guards. He could mask his terror easily enough.

“It’s obviously not,” said Keelin. “But we don’t have to talk about it if you don’t want to. And after giving you vampire blood, I feel pretty confident in skipping this whole part of the physical exam, even if it goes against my very nature.”

“What do you mean?” asked Aeron. “Do werewolves have to listen to heartbeats?”

Keelin smiled softly. “Not because I’m a werewolf; because I’m a doctor. I’m trained to check your vitals and reflexes as soon as you wake up from any sort of sustained sleep or unconscious state. But, with the vampire blood, I’ll let it slide. I will, however, need to look at your wing.”

Aeron pulled the wing in question closer to his body on instinct, feeling the pull and hissing at the pain of it. “It’s fine.”

“Stop lying to me,” said Keelin, her tone soft. “I’m here to help you, and I can’t do that if you don’t tell me the truth.” 

“I’m fine. I don’t want you to touch my wing.”

Keelin nodded, pursing her lips. “Okay,” she said, brushing her thighs with her hands and moving to her feet. She must have caught Aeron’s surprised look, because she said, “I’m not going to touch you if you don’t want me to, Aeron. No one here is. But your wing … I had to stitch it shut, and those stitches might get infected if they’re left untreated for too long. I mostly just want to check and see if there’s any sign of infection so far, because I haven’t been able to change the bandages as regularly as I’d like. I don’t even have to touch it if you’re willing to take the bandage off yourself.”

Considering his options, Aeron knew he didn’t have much of a choice. If he said no, he risked his wing suffering further damage. But he didn’t want to be touched, not even a little, so he had to be certain. “You swear you won’t touch it?”

“You can go in my head to check that I’m telling the truth, if you like,” said Keelin. “Caroline told me you could do that. It’s okay, if you want to.”

Aeron shook his head quickly, pulling his wing closer to his body. He found the edge of the bandage and began to pull it away, keeping an eye on Keelin as he did so. As soon as the bandage was gone she hunched over, her hands linked behind her back to show him they were far away from the damaged membrane.

He was a little busy looking at his wing to notice. 

The membrane had been stitched back together, the jagged edges of it pieced together as best as they could be. Whether it got an infection or not didn’t really matter, Aeron thought. The doctor might as well saw them off, for all they were useful to him.

“If you change your mind about me touching the membrane, I can take a look at some grafts and that kind of thing to help patch up that damaged area. It’s complicated, especially if you’re so against being touched, but we might be able to get you into the air again.”

She thought he could fly, Aeron thought with a start. His wings were ruined, shriveled things, but she looked at them and imagined that he had flown before, that he had soared in the sky and that he was terrified not to taste that freedom again. She didn’t know his shame, that he was an Illyrian that had never taken wing.

“I’d rather not be touched,” was all he said. He saw no reason to correct her mistake.

Keelin nodded, stepping back immediately. “Well, I can’t see or scent any infection, and I think the wound is healing nicely. I may need to touch it to pull the stitches out, but we can discuss the possibility of you being under anaesthetic or something similar while we do it. You could even spend time in my head, if you want, just so you know what will happen.”

Aeron could feel his heart hammering, right up against the base of his throat like a stone lodged there, trying to free itself. “Can’t I do it myself?”

“I very strongly recommend against it,” said Keelin. “Look, we have a week or so until we get to that point, at least, so let’s wait and see, okay?" 

Nodding, Aeron was anything but satisfied. He needed to leave this place, these people that touched him while he was sleeping and needed to do it again. He knew they’d promised to respect him, but something about the doctor told him she wouldn’t stick to that. Something wild about her, something wolfish in her, told him that she would do whatever she had to. 

He didn’t trust them. But he pasted on a smile and nodded once more, glad to see that Keelin was placated. 

* * *

_Now …_

Hope wolfed down her meal of deer meat, accepting the offered canteen of water and drinking what she could before it was ripped from her again. Whatever was going on here, it seemed to be in the best interest of her party to keep her alive and well. That had to count for something.

“Where are you taking me?” she asked, highly doubting she would get an answer.

“Where you belong,” was Andra’s response. She took another bite of her meat, turning back to her companions.

Hope needed more information. She knew she was in Prythian, but she had no idea what court, who was High Lord, and why she’d been brought here to begin with. She hadn’t even known that travel between the two lands was something just anyone could—she’d always just assumed that Aeron’s strong magic and tense situation had been the catalyst for his arrival. She hadn’t imagined that any old fae enemies could track him, could come for either of them or their family.

And that was precisely what these fae had to be—enemies of Aeron. His monster was likely still alive somewhere out here, wanting him back. Perhaps they intended to use her to get him there.

Under no circumstances could that be allowed to happen. Not when she’d promised Aeron so many times, in the dark of the night when he’d woken from his horrible nightmares, and she’d promised him that he would never have to see the people who did it. That they would never touch him, ever again. 

Repeating the same promise, over and over. 

She would rather die than let him set foot in that cell again, but she knew that he would lock himself inside if he knew of a threat to her life.

There was only one thing left to do, then: Remove the threat.

——— 

Hope waited until the fire burned low, the stick still wedged under her sleeve digging sharply into the inside of her elbow as she folded her arm underneath her head, feigning sleep.

The male and female was sleeping, but Andra, the leader, was wide awake. It would make it difficult to get to her sword, but not impossible. 

Hope checked her magic reserves—they were doing well, considering the state she’d been in upon arrival. She’d done what she could to pool her magic, to gather it and produce more like holding spit in one’s mouth, and she had a reasonable amount. Nothing devastating, but it would be enough if she used it correctly. And she’d need some left over to mask her scent, too. Especially considering that she intended to slaughter these fae, and trigger her werewolf curse in doing so.

Evening out her breaths, Hope slowed her heartbeat, just as Aeron had taught her to long ago.  _ Don’t let them see you scared, _ he’d said. It had been an entirely different situation, of course, but it still applied. She made herself appear relaxed, so near to sleep … 

And then she sprung.

As she flew toward Andra, Hope let the stick fall from her sleeve, catching it in her hand. Andra whirled to face Hope, rising to her feet, but Hope was one step ahead, dropping to her knees and sliding across the soil to strike out at the woman’s injured knee. Andra gasped, buckling, and Hope used the combination of Andra’s downward momentum and her own upward thrust to lodge the stick right in her throat.

Blood poured over Hope like a fountain, the spray of it blocking her vision in a way she had not anticipated. It was salty in her mouth, wet down the neck of her shirt and coat, and she wanted to vomit all over again.

She knew the moment Andra died. Felt it in her chest, like a fist clenching over her heart. She doubled over, feeling her heart shudder to life, take its first beats as a wolf. Her eyes were glowing gold, she knew, and she blinked away the blood as she struggled to her feet, the initial pain of a triggered curse abating to leave her something new, something with senses stronger than she could have imagined.

Senses that told her immediately that the other two had awoken.

Hope dove, just missing a dagger thrown in her direction. It wouldn’t have hit anything vital, just her legs, but she needed her legs. She needed them to run.

Hope rolled forward, her fingers finding Andra’s sword. She slid into a crouch and drew the blade from its scabbard, facing the remaining two.

“Well?” she said, a grisly smile lighting her face. “Aren’t you going to attack?” 

The two looked torn between tearing her throat out and turning to run. She had no idea how she could have intimidated them so—even covered in blood, she wasn’t nearly their size. 

“Why can’t you hurt me?” asked Hope. “Who are you bringing me to?”

  
“It won’t stop,” said the male. “Killing us won’t stop what’s coming for you. What will always be coming for you.”

Sighing, Hope resigned herself to getting no information from them. “No, I suppose it won’t,” she said, letting the tip of her sword drop a fraction. “But it will feel really good.”

And she lunged.

The female tried to strike out at her but she locked her into place with her magic even as she met the male’s dagger with her blade. He was a practiced fighter, perhaps even someone that ordinarily would have defeated her, but the newly active curse thundered through her veins like a living thing, lighting her from the inside and driving her thrusts. Her feints were heavier than she would have liked, her weapon being twice as heavy as her opponent’s, but she made use of her legs, striking out at him, trying to knock him off balance.

Her split focus wasn’t the best thing, and keeping the female locked in place was requiring more and more energy. She had to end this, now. 

The female had a blade drawn, locked in her shaking hand as she tried to move it while spelled still. Hope glanced over her shoulder to check the angle of the blade, making a dangerous gamble.

She freed the female suddenly, ducking out of the way and knocking the male forward into her outstretched blade. His cry was a gurgle, and the woman’s eyes blew wide as she pulled her weapon from his chest. He dropped to the ground, not quite dead, but certainly out of the fight.

The female whirled on Hope with a cry, their blades meeting between them with a  _ clang.  _ The female’s blade was broader and heavier than Hope’s, but whatever metal Hope’s was was somehow stronger, absorbing the blows that threatened to rattle her very bones.

“You can’t hurt me,” Hope panted, blocking a strike to her shoulder. She’d trained with Aunt Rebekah so many times, fencing and then larger swords, but she’d never been in a real sword fight before. Strangely enough, they didn’t happen on Earth very often. 

She was a good fighter; her family had seen to that. But she was tiring, and she had to finish this up soon. 

Hope may have been out of physical puff, she realised, but she had magic left. Maybe even enough for what she planned to do.

Throwing herself back, Hope made certain there was distance between them. Tossing out a hand, fingers outstretched, she threw her magic into the female’s heart and  _ tugged _ . 

Freezing into place, the female grappled at her chest, blood falling from her mouth as her eyes were blown wide. Hope continued tugging out and up with her magic, knowing that gravity would help her with some of this if she could just get through the rib cage … 

And then the female’s heart flew from her chest, landing squarely in Hope’s palm.

The fae fell to the ground, her heart following her with a wet slap. Panting heavily, Hope gripped her sword in both hands to lift it, stumbling over to where the male was still gasping on the ground. 

“You stupid bitch,” he spat.

Hope grinned down at him, planting a foot in his chest, right over his injury. “I think you’ll find I’m rather intelligent. Smart enough to get the best of you.”

“You haven’t gotten the best of anything,” said the male. “You’re just delaying the inevitable.”

“I’m going to ask you one last time,” said Hope, bearing down on him and settling her blade at his throat. “Who is coming after me?”

The male grinned, blood leaking from the corners of his mouth and slipping sideways like a clown’s painted smile. “Once the truth is out,” he said, “everyone will come for you.”

Hope severed his spine without a single thought.

* * *

_Then …_

When Caroline returned to Aeron it was with a box in her arms. She set it down on a bench nearby, turning around to face him.

“So, I brought you some clothes,” she said, waving in the direction of the box. “Some books, too. Just to keep you entertained.”

Aeron had never read a book for pleasure before. His mother had made certain that he was tutored, but it was all boring manuals and journals, ancient texts that gave him a headache just thinking about. He had certainly never been  _ entertained  _ by a book before.

“Also,” Caroline continued, walking over to a door. “There’s a bathroom in here for you to wash up in, if you need to. The shower might be a bit of a squeeze with your wings, and it’s recommended that you keep you wound out of the water, but if you leave the door open you should be able to poke it out, I suppose.” She turned back to him. “Do you think you can walk? I’d like to show you some things, see if you can work them.”

So he was to be tested, then. Aeron hid his wince as he moved to his feet. He wasn’t in pain, but he was weak. Weaker than he’d been in a while. 

Padding over to the now open door, Aeron watch Caroline run him through the taps, the water pressure, the location of the different soaps and shampoos. He remained silent, watching her detach and reattach the water spout in the shower, talking about the duration of showers, how he could take as long as he liked to start with but, as a rule, they preferred shorter showers to try and conserve water.

By the time she was done rambling, Aeron was a little out of breath from standing against the doorframe. She must have heard the catch in his throat, seen the tension in his frame, because she reached out and offered a hand. He took it begrudgingly, letting her help him back to the odd table he’d been lying on.

“Also, now that you’re awake,” she continued, “you’re welcome to move to a room with a bed, or we can move a bed in here easily enough. This is a room in the infirmary, and not all of the other bedrooms have bathrooms attached. You’d have to use a communal space for showering, and I’m guessing you don’t want that. But, as far as your wings go, it’s up to you whether you want to try sleeping on your back or side.” 

Aeron was waiting for her to start testing him, asking him questions to make sure he’d listen, but she continued on, eyeing his wing, “I’m guessing you aren’t having Keelin touch up your wing for you?”

“I don’t want to be touched.” 

“That’s very understandable. But, just so you know, if she touched your wing to deal with the stitches once, it’s still up to you whether she touches it after that. Just because you do something one time, doesn’t mean we have to do it every time. Your wings still belong to you, and no one will ever touch them without your permission.” She rested a hand on his knee very carefully, and he didn’t flinch. “If you change your mind, you can tell me, and I will do whatever you need to help you. If you don’t want to stay here, you can leave, but I can’t promise you’ll be safe anywhere else. I can promise you’ll be safe here.”

He doubted she knew what she was talking about, the kinds of people that would come after him … 

The people that had no way of knowing where he was. The people that didn’t know who or what or where or how he was there. 

“All right,” he said. 

Caroline blinked. “All right, you’ll stay, or all right, Keelin can help you with your wing?” 

Aeron swallowed. “Both.”


	4. Act III

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And without further ado (but with much thanks to J. Ace for beta-ing): Act III.

ACT THREE

 

#  _ Locating Silence _

  
  


_ Nine years ago …  _

Aeron’s wings were ugly things. 

There was no real way around it: They were weak and shrivelled, all sagging skin and protruding talons that stabbed the backs of his thighs when he curled up at night. Even though the wound had healed with time, there was a jagged scar left in the center of his left wing, tracing down all the way to where Aeron had torn himself free of the monster’s blade. 

It was ugly, and Aeron wished with all of his might that he had learned how to tuck his wings away like Amarantha had insisted his father could. Rhysand, who Amarantha told him laboured under the delusion that no one knew he even had wings, so well he could conceal them with his High Fae magic. 

He supposed his father had never cared to come down and teach him how to hide his wings, too. 

A rap at his bedroom door had Aeron sitting bolt upright and to attention. It was early morning, a time he often spent lying in bed and reflecting on the state of his wing in the light of the new dawn filtering in through his open window. 

Getting to his feet, Aeron padded over to the door. He’d long since moved from the infirmary into his own room on the residential wing, though Caroline had allocated a bathroom in her own suite for him to use when he needed it, just so he could use the bigger shower and not come into contact with anyone he didn’t want to. 

As always, Aeron had shut and locked the door before bed the previous night, lodging a chair under the knob to keep it from being opened. A stack of coins and various stones he’d found around the place rested atop the tilted chair in a crockery bowl, ready to fall if anyone disturbed the balance. No one could enter the room at night without Aeron noticing. 

The knocking sounded again, and Aeron sighed, scooping the bowl up and kicking the chair away. He unlocked the door but didn’t bother opening it—it sprung open almost on top of him, revealing a slip of a girl with bright blue eyes and dark hair tucked into a neat pony tail. She was dressed head to toe in what Aeron had come to know as exercise gear, complete with garishly-coloured sneakers and a headband.

“Hey, Aer,” she greeted, breezing in. Aeron had only been there for a month, barely enough to make the room feel like it could ever belong to him, and yet Josie went wherever she pleased, as though it already belonged to her. Tossing herself onto his bed, she threw her legs into the air, stretching them high. “Wanna come running with me?” she asked, voice strained with the effort of the stretch.

Aeron resisted the urge to roll his eyes. He’d never had to fight that particular inclination before, but after spending time with Josie, he’d learned both how to be annoyed and how to  _ act  _ annoyed. “No, thank you,” he said. The same answer he’d given every day. “And you don’t have to keep asking me.”

“But it’s adorable when you try not to roll your eyes,” Josie said, standing up only to drop into another sort of stretch.

“And you don’t have to do your warm-ups in my bedroom.”

“You don’t have to sleep in my warm-up room,” she shot back, looking at him through her legs as she was doubled over. “I was here first, you know.”

As Caroline’s daughter, she’d been here before any of the other children, even those older than her who had come after. “Well, I’ll leave you to it, then,” Aeron threatened.

Straightening, Josie rolled her eyes. “You don’t go downstairs to breakfast until the first classes start and all the kids are busy. I know Mom makes you eggs on dry toast then, you weirdo.”

“Your mother says you shouldn’t call me that.”

“My mother isn’t here in my warm-up room, is she?” 

“Are you nearly done?” Aeron asked, trying to sound impatient. Really, he had nothing better to do with his time than curl up and read the same battered copy of  _ Harry Potter and the Sorcerer's Stone  _ again, one inscribed with  _ Property of Hope Mikaelson  _ on the inside. He always read the inscription first, no matter where he was in the story.

“Almost,” said Josie, stretching her arms up over her head. “You’re sure you don’t want to come running with me?”

Aeron couldn’t see the appeal. He loved the outdoors—couldn’t sleep with the window closed, no matter how much it made Caroline fuss on colder nights—but he couldn’t stand running. If nothing was chasing you, why bother?

“No, thank you,” he said simply, for the thousandth time since that first morning after he’d moved up to this room, his wing recently stitch-free. Josie had marched right up to his door and invited him out running like it was a normal custom. Aeron discovered later that it was not, but that it was normal for Josie. 

Josie nodded, accepting his rejection, as always. “You’ll say yes to me one day,” she said, sounding very confident. Aeron wasn’t certain she was wrong, but he knew he wasn’t ready for her to be right, either. 

“Not today.”

“Nope.” Josie made to walk past him, giving him a wide berth. For all her lack of boundaries, she’d never once touched him. Which was an achievement, seeing as how he’d watched her literally tackle her father to the ground after he ate the last smores poptart. Alaric had been limping for the rest of the day, and she’d apologised with a bouquet of poptarts on sticks that Alaric ended up fobbing off on Aeron, admitting sheepishly that he didn’t really like poptarts, after all.

“Hey,” said Josie, pausing in the doorway. “You found your silver lining yet?” 

Aeron cleared his throat. “Still looking.” 

Josie said nothing, just gave a small smile and departed, closing the door behind her. It was how their mornings always ended; with a question, and Aeron’s answer in the negative. It all went back to the first time he’d met Josie, while he was still in the infirmary sleeping on the massage table at night. Josie had sat beneath the hole for his head, stuffed a lollipop in his mouth, and proceeded to give him the gossip on every single member of her family and friends. And then, at last, she told him about the Silver Linings Game. 

“No matter how thickly the clouds cover the stars,” she’d said, her lips blue from her own candy, “there’s always a silver lining. It’s okay if you take a while to find it, though. It’s looking for it that matters in the first place.”

And now, every morning since, she’d asked him that same question. One day, he’d have a better answer.

 

* * *

 

_ Now …  _

“ _ Incendia _ ,” Hope said, watching the fire roar to life. She’d spent hours painstakingly building the perfect structure for the fire, and it went up perfectly, the kindling lighting up and brushing against the stacked logs. Kol had taught her how to make the perfect bonfire long ago—he was a big fan of fire and an amateur pyromaniac, if Rebekah was to be believed—and so, every bonfire season, it was their job to build the fire from wood Elijah chopped for them. 

Apparently there were more than recreational uses for such a thing.

What Hope didn’t know how to do was set up a spit over the fire, though she was searching for branches straight enough to try. For now, she caught her kills with a combination of werewolf tracking and magic, and cut the meat off into strips to be wound onto smaller sticks like kebabs that she roasted over the flames by hand. It wasn’t glamorous, and she was no chef, but between the meat and what edible berries she been able to locate (yay, mandatory botany class at the Armory), she wasn’t going to starve any time soon.

It had been three weeks since Hope slaughtered her captors. Three weeks of hunting for her own food, of relying on her instincts and her magic and what weapons she’d been able to scavenge off the fae she’d slain and left to rot in the clearing. She’d travelled reasonably far, three days’ walk while masking her scent, and set up camp here for a while to get her bearings. Each day she ventured further away from the makeshift camp she’d made herself in a cave by a stream, animal bones strung up with strips of dried bark to alert her if anyone passed through the entrance. 

She knew what she was doing. Kind of.

To be honest, her wilderness training mostly consisted of her father’s rants about how easy she and her sisters had it these days, with smartphones and Google and roll-on deodorant. He’d greatly exaggerated many a tale about trekking through miles of snow in search of berries—Hope had never heard of any berries that could survive in that sort of climate, and she had taken the mandatory botany class—so she had a pretty good idea of what not to do.

Of course, if she’d asked her father, his answer would have been  _ Don’t get kidnapped in the bloody first place.  _

Hope finished winding a strip of rabbit meat onto the makeshift skewer and dangled it over the fire, watching the flames lick up the meat until it started sizzling. Sure, magic was useful, but if she couldn’t conjure herself a buffet, then what use was it really?

A question she and Josie had asked many a time.

Hope winced, trying not to think of home. It was hard—every thought, every experience, every piece of knowledge could be traced back there. Every part of her was rooted in her family, and not thinking of them was like closing her eyes, cutting herself off from an entire sense. 

Watching as the meat cooked, Hope weighed her options going forward. She had a good set-up here, and it would be a shame to ruin it on the full moon when she turned into a rabid beast. She was trying desperately not to think of her looming transformation, of the agony that awaited her in just two weeks’ time—the moon was officially waxing, growing stronger each night. There was a time when she looked forward to full moons, to strolling out underneath them with either of her parents and gazing up at her, feeling connected to the earth in a way that went deeper than even her magic did. 

Where Hope had once felt adoration, she now felt nothing but terror.

Pushing it down, Hope tried her best to accept the coming pain. She’d always assumed that, if she did trigger her curse, Aunt Freya would just cook her up a moonlight ring and that would be that. It had been an unspoken understanding among them that she would never have to experience the pain, the loneliness, the horror. She had never fully considered that she wouldn’t have her family there to save her from what she was.

No one was coming to save her, Hope knew. She just knew there was no way back here, not even with Aeron’s magic. If she couldn’t feel him, he couldn’t feel her. He had no way of knowing she was even here.

No—no one was coming to save her. She was going to have to save herself.

 

* * *

 

_Then  …_

Aeron made his way to the kitchens, the halls eerily silent. He kept his wings tucked in close—he’d been practicing—and tried not to let them drag on the floor. The tips often caught on the stairs when he descended them, but it wasn’t too bad. There’d been some improvement, at least. 

The kitchens were located on the lowest level, just through the dining hall. As Aeron passed through the hall he nodded tightly to one of the workers clearing plates; the students had gone to class, but there was still clean up to be done after their meal. 

The door to the kitchen was unlocked, and the smell of frying eggs permeated the air. Caroline and Keelin had determined that eggs and meat were good for building him back to health, and he had the slight meat on his bones to show for it. He couldn’t take scrambled eggs, though. Caroline had told him it was likely something to do with the butter and milk in them; either way, he avoided that and settled for fried eggs and dry toast.

Caroline was hunched over the stove, dressed in her usual work clothes but with a net over her hair. She didn’t turn to acknowledge him, just waved him over to the corner of the kitchen where a desk had been set up. She’d dragged it down from a classroom herself, setting it up there for Aeron to eat at until he felt better about eating with all the other children.

Other children. However much he tried to avoid them, Aeron now lived with other children. To be truthful, the concept was still a foreign one.

Aeron sat at the desk, running a hand over the messages carved into its surface, silly faces and professions of love. He had no idea why someone would choose to be so destructive when they could be paying attention to their lessons, but from what he’d seen so far there was no corporal punishment doled out to those who misbehaved. How else would they deter children from doing something like this?

People ducked in and out of the kitchen, giving Caroline a wide berth. Aeron got the impression that she didn’t cook a lot—he’d overheard her husband, Klaus, explaining the process of frying eggs to her with a very tired tone—but she insisted on this every morning, on cooking for Aeron and talking to him. He didn’t like new people very much, and Caroline must have sensed that and informed others, because none of the workers tried to make contact with him. Other than Josie, but she had no boundaries, and Aeron had come to accept that. 

“There we go,” said Caroline, setting a plate in front of him. “Two eggs, sunny side up, and some dry toast. I’ll get you some water.”

Aeron nodded tightly, picking up the bread in his hands. Caroline always set cutlery out for him, but he’d never used it before. She didn’t comment when he used his hands for meals, though. Just nodded and ushered him to the nearest sink to wash his hands afterward.

“So,” said Caroline leadingly, returning with a glass of water in hand. She herself had a half-drunk smoothie resting on the counter. She always made them before he got down there, knowing that the noise of the machine had frightened him the first time he’d heard it. “I was wondering if you might like to take a walk with me this morning.”

Usually, Aeron spent most of the day in his room, sitting in the chair by his window. He had appointments with Keelin to check on his wing, and the whirlwind that was Josie every morning before her jog, but beyond that he led a fairly quiet life.

Except for the nightmares and the times when he was trapped in memories so horrible he nearly clawed his own skin off, but he healed quickly from that and never talked about it. Ever.

“You’re not busy?” Aeron asked, taking a sip of water to help wash down the dry egg and toast. He had no idea if Caroline was supposed to be a good cook or not. All he knew was that this was the only thing he could eat without vomiting.

“I cleared some space for you,” said Caroline. “I realised you haven’t been outside much since you got here, and I wanted to give you a bit of a tour out there.”

Aeron thought on it for a moment. “Do I have to wear shoes?”

Caroline smiled softly. “No, you don’t have to wear shoes.”

Aeron nodded, still chewing. “Then I guess that’s all right then.”

* * *

 

 

_ Now …  _

Hope clambered over the rocks, taking care not to slip on the wet stone. 

She was the furthest she’d been from her new “home” since setting up camp there, but she was desperate. The full moon was in a week—she could feel it nearing in her bones, singing in her blood,  _ soon, soon, soon _ —and she needed somewhere to transform. Her first time would be long and brutal, bones shattering and resetting, muscle tearing and reforming. She’d need somewhere removed, somewhere safe. Somewhere she could destroy.

Surveying the cave, Hope wondered if maybe she’d found it. 

It was hard to get into. She’d had to duck through a waterfall and scale wet, slippery rocks in the dark just to find it. It wasn’t as secure as she would’ve liked; there was a place at the back of it where the light filtered through, made verdant green by a covering of leaves. It was a small space, not enough to get through, but still. It bothered her.

She could make it work, she supposed, kicking at the mossy floor. It was damp and she felt like she was getting a cough just breathing in the air, but it would have to be enough.

Things weren’t really going to get better, after all.

 

* * *

 

_Then …_

The day was nice enough, as far as days went. The sun was shining, the birds were singing, and, on the whole, it was a scene Aeron had never thought he’d get to see.

Caroline must have noted Aeron’s wonder as they walked through the field, giving the area he’d first arrived at a wide berth. “Can I ask a question?” 

Aeron nodded.

“Why don’t you go outside by yourself?”

“I don’t know,” said Aeron, and it was the truth.

“It’s just that you stay in your room a lot. And if that’s what you need to do, that’s fine, but I was wondering why you weren’t coming out here before, but you’re happy to when invited. Do you think you need permission?”

Aeron realised that he wasn’t sure what he thought, really. Maybe he was waiting for permission. Maybe he just didn’t want to feel exposed. He knew his room very well, how to set things up to alert him if anyone entered, how to stare at a certain stain on the plaster ceiling to make himself fall asleep. He didn’t know the outdoors.

“I don’t know,” he repeated.

Caroline nodded, her hands stuffed in the pockets of her coat. “I can understand being confused,” she said. “But, just so you know, you’re allowed to go out here whenever you want. Even after curfew, which the other kids aren’t allowed. Come on, I want to show you something.”

She walked on ahead, the heels of her shoes sinking into the wet earth. It had rained the day before, Aeron remembered. He’d had to tuck his book under his legs as he sat by the window just to stop it from getting wet.

They walked to the edge of the property, right where a fence speared through the grass, crisp white contrasting with the lively green. 

“It’s not really something you can see with your eyes,” said Caroline. “It’s more something you feel. Would you like to step over the fence with me?” Even as she asked, Caroline was hauling herself over the fence, one leg over the other, until she landed on the wet grass on the other side with a  _ squelch _ . 

Aeron wasn’t sure why she wanted him to, but he reached out with thin hands and grasped the top of the wood, trying to pull himself over. He pitched forward a little, losing balance, but Caroline put a single hand on his shoulder to steady him, and he made his way easily over.

“Do you feel that?” asked Caroline. “The difference on this side of the fence?”

There was something different, Aeron realised. Things felt wilder. He felt more exposed on this side. It was like a soft but definite weight on his shoulders had been shucked off, leaving him light and a little anxious.

Noting his distress, Caroline held out a hand. “Here, let me help you back over.” Aeron took her hand, making his way back over the fence. “I’m sorry,” she said, still on the other side. “I didn’t realise it would bother you so much. But you felt it?”

“What is that?” asked Aeron. “Is there—is there some sort of wild magic out there?”

“Not out there, specifically,” said Caroline. “But it is magic you’re feeling. Inside the boundary, where you are now, we have protection spells. To someone that hasn’t been allowed inside, this whole place doesn’t even exist. It’s spelled to turn humans and anything scary away, so that they can’t even see it, let alone get access. What you felt when you crossed the fence was what the world feels like without the wards to protect you and keep you hidden, along with the rest of us.” 

“So,” said Aeron, hands fisted on the wood in front of him. “If someone were to come looking for me …” 

“They could never find you here,” Caroline confirmed. “Not unless they were previously allowed in.”

“What does that mean? Allowed?” 

“Well,” said Caroline. “I’m not completely clear on how it works, which is probably not good seeing as how I co-run the place. I know that Freya—Keelin’s wife—put spells on the Armory to protect it when they moved in, mostly because Hope was living here after that and they wanted to keep her safe. Freya can invite you in or allow you in—it doesn’t have to be a verbal invitation—but I think Hope can as well, because they’re from the same witch bloodline. Seeing as Freya didn’t allow you inside that night you arrived here, I think Hope trying to bring you in was what did that. I knew you were permitted as soon as I stepped over the boundary with you in my arms.”

“Hope brought me in here?” Aeron wasn’t sure he’d ever said her name out loud. He’d thought it so many times, but to have it on his lips was something different.

Caroline nodded. “I think so, yes. Magically speaking. I was the one that carried you. But you don’t have to thank her unless you want to. I don’t even know if she realises what she did for you. The whole night was pretty crazy.”

“I don’t remember much of it.’

“Is there … anything you remember about getting the injuries in the first place?”

Aeron’s jaw tightening, his heart shuddering in his chest. “Not really,” he lied.

“You don’t have to tell me anything,” said Caroline. “I mean it. This is a fresh start for you, if you want it. And if part of having a fresh start means not talking about what happened, then I understand that. But if you do want to talk about it … I’m here. Always.”

He nodded, not daring to meet her gaze.

“All right,” she said, reaching a hand out and drawing his attention back to her. “Are you going to help me over?”

Aeron wasn’t sure what help he was, given that she was powerful enough to have leapt over something ten times this height without bother, but still. He’d never touched someone to help them before, and taking her hand to steady her as she pulled herself over the fence felt like the beginning of something different entirely.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Act IV to come.


	5. Act IV

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks go to J. Ace, who saved my literary ass by catching several mortifying typos in this particular act. Enjoy!

 

ACT FOUR

 

#  _Clouds Cover the Stars_

 

 

_Nine years ago …_

Aeron washed down the dry egg and toast with a swig of orange juice, the sweet taste still making him wince a little even after weeks of having it daily.

“How is it?” asked Caroline, leaning against the wall and taking a long draw from her bright green smoothie.

“Good,” said Aeron, preparing to take another bite. He’d learned to use cutlery a little better, and though his movements weren’t graceful he managed to tear the bread and egg apart with his knife and scoop it up with his fork inelegantly. Caroline had devoted hours to trying to teach him to use cutlery, and while he wasn’t pleased with his slow progress she’d heaped nothing but praise upon him.

“It’s harder to learn things when you’re older,” she’d said on one such occasion, as he’d broken down and thrown a knife across to room only to have it stick in the wall. “When you’re young, you aren’t aware that there’s a real gap between what you can do and what others can do, because everyone young like you is at the same level of ability. But when you’re older, and you have the awareness to start comparing, things get messy. Frustrating. But it’s okay to give yourself time.”

He was trying to give himself time, that much was true. He was learning slowly, more and more each day. He could walk outside alone by now, but only while the other children were in classes and he could be sure not to run into anyone. He could use cutlery for basic things, and he could stomach sweeter foods and drinks than before. He was growing, in time.

It wasn’t quite fast enough for him.

“I was thinking,” began Caroline, her eyes on her smoothie as she traced a finger through the condensation on the outside of the container, “that maybe it might be time to have a think about whether or not you want to take any classes here.”

Aeron stilled, fork halfway to his mouth. The toast and egg and slid off it, hitting his plate with a defeated slap. “I haven’t really thought about it,” he said. Lied. He’d thought about it entirely too much, and come to one conclusion: He would never be like the rest of them. There was no point trying.

“Well, it might be good to start. It could benefit you to widen your horizons, to spend more time with others. You could learn things about yourself, figure out where you best fit in this new world.”

“But I’m not a witch,” said Aeron. “Or a werewolf. I’m not even a vampire.”

“You’re something different,” Caroline acknowledged. “But that’s not a bad thing. We may not have taught someone like you before, but we’re the best people in this world to give it a try. If you want, we can assess where you’re at with the basics, and start tutoring you until you feel comfortable attending classes with the other kids. My girls can help you some, if you like. I know you and Josie get along all right.”

Aeron and Josie did get along, but he suspected that Josie would get along with a brick wall. He’d met her twin, Lizzie, who seemed wholly unimpressed with him, but he guessed that Lizzie would go along with almost anything Josie did. The two of them were attached at the hip more often than not.

“I’m not sure,” said Aeron, shifting in his chair.

  
“Not sure about classes? Or about learning more in general?” 

“I’m not sure I’m staying.”

Caroline was quiet for a moment. “Well,” she said, sighing, “as I’ve made clear on many occasions, we’re not holding you here. If you did start classes, you wouldn’t be bound here, either. You belong to yourself. I’m just interested in helping equip you to take care of yourself a little better, and learning more about this world can help you do that.” She reached out and put a hand on his tense shoulder. “Just think about it, okay?”

“I will,” Aeron promised. The truth was, of course, that he had already thought about it. Quite extensively, too.

He just couldn’t see how it could ever work.

———

As they often did, the twins joined Aeron for lunch.

They brought their trays and his to his room, setting themselves up on the floor while the early afternoon light streamed in through the open window, warming the room. Aeron’s tray consisted of bread and meat, and even a carton of sweetened chocolate milk. He couldn’t drink much of it without feeling ill, so Josie usually finished it off for him as well as her own.

“You should have heard the fight that broke out in SH,” Josie was saying, half-lying against her sister and scooping lime green jello out of a cup. SH, Aeron had learned, stood for “Supernatural History”, which was not to be confused with “Natural History”, a class that encompassed all history that wasn’t … magical. Their father taught both classes. “Louis was insisting that the wolf curse was some mythological bullshit because it had always been that way. Hope told him he was being ridiculous because she _knows_ how it actually started, but it was like he wouldn’t even listen to her. Dad tried to intervene before things got ugly, but Louis alluded to Hope being … animalistic. So, naturally, in order to prove him wrong she lunged across the room and went for his throat.”

Aeron did his best not to look too interested in the story. He hadn’t seen or heard from Hope since that first night, but he heard about her from Josie plenty. He didn’t want to seem too eager to hear about her, though, so he kept his mouth shut and let Josie continue.

“So Dad broke it up, and now Hope has detention for a week while Louis just gets away with it because he didn’t ‘escalate’ it. Which is fucked up, because he totally escalated it when he called her an animal. He deserved what he got. Talk shit get hit, as far as I’m concerned.”

“You really shouldn’t be advocating for violence,” said Lizzie, eyeing her sister. She was a quiet sort, but not in an angry way. More in a soft, observant way. Aeron often got the impression that she was unimpressed by him, by her sister, and by life in general, but then he remembered that he didn’t truly know her, so he stopped deigning to judge.

“I’ll advocate for violence until the day pricks like Louis stop deserving it,” said Josie. “Like he knows the first thing about werewolves. He’s a Leroux witch; all they’ve ever done is fight wolves.”

“To be fair,” said Lizzie, “most of the witches here don’t know much about werewolves until they take classes. Louis has only been here a year. You can’t just beat up on people because they haven’t had the same educational opportunities as you.”

Josie poked out her tongue, green from the jello. “I can, and I will.”

Aeron cleared his throat. “I don’t know much about werewolves,” he said. _But I’d like to,_ he added silently. He didn’t want to fish for information about Hope, to reveal a weakness like his interest in the girl that had saved him and allowed him inside, but information about werewolves in general was fair game.

“Yeah, but you’ve only been here two months,” said Josie. “No one could blame you.”

“I didn’t mean that you would hurt me,” said Aeron, realising that he meant it. Josie wouldn’t hurt him; of that much, he was certain. “I just meant that I don’t know anything, and I’d like to know more.”

Josie’s smirk was sly. “Then I suppose you’ll have to stick around and take some classes, won’t you?”

“Josie,” scolded Lizzie. “You can’t just withhold information from people to manipulate them into doing what you want.” She turned to Aeron, her bright blue eyes fixed on his in a way he didn’t think they ever had been before. “Werewolves are humans cursed by witches centuries ago to turn into wolves on the full moon. They were hunted almost into extinction several times, but some bloodlines remain.”

“Hunted?” asked Aeron, hoping his voice didn’t betray his anxiety. He knew what it meant to be hunted, even for a brief while. He couldn’t stop himself from asking, “Is Hope in danger, then?”

“Not here,” said Josie. “Klaus would gut anyone that looked at her wrong and string their innards up on the front gate.”

“Josette,” snapped Lizzie. She looked back at Aeron. “There aren’t many people hunting wolves any more, and those who are wouldn’t dare go near a Mikaelson like Hope. And even if they did try, the can’t get inside here without Aunt Freya allowing them in, and they can’t get near Hope without one of her family members going for their throats. Not to mention how powerful Hope’s magic is besides. There’s nothing to worry about.”

It was the most Aeron had ever heard Lizzie say at once, and it seemed to all be designed to reassure him. Perhaps she wasn’t as unimpressed as he thought, merely quiet. “But … the night I … arrived here, there was a full moon.” He remembered it clearly, having stared up at it and accepted his fate before Hope ran into that clearing to save him.

“That’s why Hope was out there,” said Josie. “She’s obsessed, like all wolves are.”

“But she wasn’t a wolf that night.”

“Oh, no,” said Josie. “You have to trigger your curse first.”

“How do you do that?”

Josie looked down at her empty jello cup, running her spoon around the rim of it while she bit her lip. It was Lizzie who said, “First kill.”

“Oh.” So Hope hadn’t killed yet. Hopefully that meant she’d never been in a situation where it was appropriate to try. “Do wolves like to trigger their curses? I mean, why is it called a curse to begin with if they like the full moon? And being a wolf …” Speaking as someone that had had a part of their heritage denied them as his wings wilted and rotted behind him in his cell, Aeron couldn’t imagine it was pleasant to yearn for the moon but never be able to heed its call.

“It’s called a curse because it hurts like fucking hell,” said Josie plainly. “You break every bone, tear every muscle—you have to remake yourself into a wolf. It’s gruelling.”

“But yes,” added Lizzie. “Some wolves try to trigger their curses deliberately. Mostly those who live in packs and think its their duty to become a part of their pack, like its an honour to endure the pain for the glory that comes with being a wolf.”

“And Hope doesn’t have a pack?”

“She has her parents,” said Josie. “And her mom’s the Crescent Alpha in New Orleans. They’re Hope’s pack, if she ever decides she wants to accept that part of herself. They answer to Hayley now, but Hayley’s technically dead, so eventually they’ll want to turn to Hope as their Alpha.”

“She’s also the only one that can carry on the Labonair line,” Lizzie contributed as an afterthought.

Josie snorted. “Don’t let Klaus catch you suggesting that his little girl should breed for the sake of old werewolf bloodlines. You know how hard everyone tries to keep that pressure from her.”

“Wait, I’m confused,” said Aeron. “Hope’s mother is dead?”

“She’s a vampire-werewolf hybrid. She can’t have more children, so only Hope can carry on the Labonair bloodline,” explained Lizzie.

“But she has to activate her curse to be a Labonair wolf? And if she does, she’ll have to turn?”

“Not if Klaus and Aunt Freya have any say in it,” said Josie, chuckling.

“There’s a ring that can be made for her,” explained Lizzie. “Like the daylight rings that protect vampires from the sun, a moonlight ring will protect a werewolf from the moon. So long as we have a moonstone and Klaus’s blood at hand, one can be made for her whenever she triggers her curse. But Mom would probably interject over all the proud werewolf bullshit and insist on Hope thinking through whether she wants to bind her wolf-side like that or not. Mom’s real big on choices, as you probably know, so she wouldn’t want Hope losing part of herself just because it’s expected that she should fear it.”

“But moonlight rings aren’t the only thing that can stop a wolf from turning, though,” sniggered Josie.

Aeron raised an eyebrow. “What else?”

“As if that’s relevant, Josie,” said Lizzie. “Honestly.”

Josie’s giggles turned to outright howls of laughter.

“I don’t understand,” said Aeron. “What’s so funny?”

“Never mind her,” said Lizzie, prodding her sister with her foot. “She’s just like this sometimes. Hope will be fine, no matter what happens. She has her family here. It will always be her choice.”

Aeron liked the sound of that. Another thing he’d never had before, but which he was quickly realising he might always have from now on: Choice.

 

* * *

 

_Now …_

Having no other choice, Hope departed her camp for the cave at noon. Her every step was jittery, her hands in tight fists by her sides. She scaled the wet rock and slipped into the cave just as the sun was dipping in the sky.

For every inch she climbed upward Hope felt her heart sink a little lower in her chest, as though it was tethered to the ground and each time she pulled herself up it tugged painfully at its leash.

A leash on her heart. There was some irony in that, given what she was about to endure.

Hope pulled herself fully into the cave, letting herself collapse onto the wet, mossy rock. She’d considered searching the woods for wolfsbane to drink to weaken herself for the turning, but she’d been retching up all food she ate in her anxiety and she wasn’t sure if she could take getting any weaker.

Struggling to her feet, Hope walked unsteadily toward the middle of the cave, where the crack ran through and she could see the rapidly darkening sky. She considered, briefly, looking out the mouth of the cave at the sunset. Sunsets in Prythian were beautiful things that made her itch to paint, but today she felt like it would feel like it was mocking her, like the light was abandoning her to her fate under the moon she’d once adored with all her being.

The light left her, and it took warmth with it until only Hope remained, waiting in the darkness.

 

* * *

 

_Then …_

It happened on a Thursday.

Aeron knew it was Thursday because Josie and Lizzie had been sweaty and gross when they’d brought lunch to him, having spent the previous class running around outdoors. The only had a scheduled class for this on Thursdays, and Josie spent most of lunch time on each of these occasions cursing her Uncle Jeremy, their gym teacher. Lizzie would comment that Josie was the most athletic of them all, and Josie would respond that being the most well-read of them all didn’t stop Lizzie from complaining about being forced to read _Animal Farm_ in English class.

After that weekly argument had occurred, the twins had left Aeron, taking all three trays with them. He’d read for a while, but eventually needed to go to the bathroom. He really shouldn’t have drunk quite so much of the apple juice Lizzie had brought along.

As he always did, Aeron made his way down to the lower level where Caroline and Klaus’s rooms were. He let himself in, finding them empty, and ducked into the bathroom to take care of business.

Having washed and dried his hands, Aeron padded back through the living area, eyeing the brightly coloured folders stacked on the desk in the corner. He was almost out of the room entirely when a voice said, “You must be Aeron.”

Aeron jumped, cursing himself for forgetting to scan the area for minds. A young man stood by the bookshelf, an open book in the palm of one hand. He had dark hair and eyes, pale skin, and thick eyebrows that were raised up almost to his hairline. He snapped the book shut in his hand and rested it on one of the shelves instead of tucking it back into its place. Caroline wouldn’t be happy about that, Aeron wagered.

“I’m Kol,” the man continued, sauntering toward Aeron. “You’re the boy Caroline and Nik have taken in.”

“Nik?”

“Niklaus. Klaus,” Kol clarified. “My brother.”

It clicked for Aeron, suddenly. This was the man Josie referred to as Uncle Kol. He came to stay occasionally, but not so often that he had his own designated room. He must have arrived recently, having not received the same instruction to leave Aeron be that Caroline had been providing everyone else.

“Yes, that’s me,” said Aeron, shifting on his feet. “I’m just going to go—”

“Don’t tell me I’ve scared you off already,” said Kol, walking closer only to suddenly fall back onto the sofa, legs crossed and arms thrown back behind his head. “Nik’ll be furious.”

“I’m not scared,” said Aeron. “I just have things to do.”

“Do you always come all the way down here just to take a piss?”

Aeron flushed. “I—Caroline said it was fine.”

“You really don’t want to run into anyone, do you?” Kol flicked his gaze over him intently, sizing him up. “Well, you’re shit out of luck today, mate. Come and take a seat.”

Aeron shook his head. “No, thank you,” he said. Something about Kol’s arrogance reminded him of things he’d rather forget, and he really just wanted to get out of there.

“Oh, come on,” said Kol, waving a hand toward the sofa across from him. “I won’t bite, not even if you ask me to. My wife would kill me.”

Much as he didn’t want to be, Aeron found himself trapped in the room. He sat down gingerly, carefully tucking his wings behind him and trying not to cringe when the sensitive edges met the thick suede of the sofa.

“So, you’re like a fairy, then?” asked Kol, eyes definitely on Aeron’s wings.

“Fae, yes,” said Aeron.

“It doesn’t look like you could manage much flying with those,” continued Kol. “They look like wet shopping bags.”

Aeron didn’t know what wet shopping bags looked like, but he imagined they weren’t very useful. “I don’t fly, no.”

“Have you been trying?”

“Does it look like I’d get anywhere?” Aeron snapped, then winced. “I’m sorry,” he said automatically. “That was rude.”

Kol threw his head back and laughed. “Very few people apologise for being rude to me,” he said, shoulders still shaking with mirth. “Least of all any of Nik and Caroline’s brood. You’re a right fascinating addition, you are.”

“Thank you.” Aeron wasn’t feeling particularly grateful. He just wanted to leave. All the windows were shut here, and there was no air flow. He needed fresh air, and he needed it now.

“You all right, mate?” asked Kol. “You’re looking a little peaky. If you need to vomit, do me a favour and aim for the bed. Nik loves his thousand thread count sheets about as much as he loves the woman that sleeps in them, and I’d love to see the look on his face if someone ruined them. He might actually kill you.”

Aeron was quite sure he really was going to be sick.

Seemingly realising his error, Kol sat forward, open palms outstretched. “Not literally,” he clarified quickly. “I just mean—”

But it was too late; Aeron was gone. Lost in a memory, the kind that made his heart pound and his palms sweat, the kind that he tried to avoid being sucked into whenever there was someone else around to witness his terror. He could feel the whip falling on his back, the tearing of the membrane of his wing, how he pressed himself so hard into the stone to escape his mother’s lashes that his knobby knees bruised painfully.

Aeron came back to himself just as a loud voice boomed through the room. “What the hell are you doing, you bloody idiot?”

“I was only playing around, Nik, and he just started panicking. I swear—”

“Get out and get my wife. Now.”

Aeron remained, frozen in place with his hands over his head and his eyes cast to the floor between his knees.

Footsteps departed the room and disappeared down the hall, and heavy, slower ones thudded toward Aeron, giving him a wide berth. They halted just in front of him, and there was a rustle of fabric as Klaus sat down. A hand stretched out to just were Aeron could see it, broad and tan, stained with paint and with a shining golden band on the ring finger.

“Easy there, mate,” Klaus said, his voice softer than Aeron had ever heard it. “You’re doing all right. Caroline’s on her way, and Kol won’t be bothering you again.”

“Didn’t do anything,” Aeron mumbled.

“I know you didn’t, lad.”

“No,” said Aeron, shaking his head but still not looking up. “Kol. He didn’t do anything. It was me.”

“Do you want to tell me what happened?”

Aeron remained silent. The answer was no, but he’d never told a man ‘no’ before. Just Caroline and Keelin, when he’d first arrived. He couldn’t imagine what would have happened if he’d ever denied the monster what he asked for.

“It’s all right, lad,” said Klaus. “You don’t have to talk. I’m sure Caroline will be along in a bit, and she’ll take good care of you.”

Footsteps could be heard coming down the hall, but Aeron knew it wasn’t Caroline. He knew exactly who it was. Why she always had to find him at his worst, he didn’t know.

“Dad, what’s going on?” the newcomer asked from the doorway.

“Everything’s fine, Hope,” replied Klaus. “Just give us some space, love.”

“But if something happened—”

“Nothing happened; it’s all fine. You should be in class.”

“I don’t want to go anywhere. I want to stay and help.”

 _Please, leave_ , Aeron wanted to say. The memory still clung to him, the sweat slicking his back feeling like blood, and he couldn’t stand to think of Hope seeing him broken again. Not after last time as he bled out in the moonlight, her eyes wide and terrified at the sight of all the blood.

“It’s all right, hon,” said Caroline. Aeron hadn’t heard her approach, but her voice was unmistakable. “You and your dad can go for a bit of a walk. I’ll take care of Aeron.”

There was quiet for a moment in which no one moved. Then, Klaus’s hand disappeared and she stood, and he and Hope left the room silently, the door clicking shut behind them.

Alone with Aeron, Caroline crossed over to him, kneeling in front of him so her knees were in his view. It reminded him of when he first woke up here, face down on the massage table while Caroline peered up at him and made promises he still wasn’t sure she’d be able to keep.

“Okay, sweetheart,” said Caroline, running her hands over her skirt. A golden band on her ring finger was the complement to Klaus’s, though she wore it differently on clean, pale hands where the only paint was a dark cobalt blue on her fingernails. “I’m just gonna sit here and make sure nobody else bothers you. You don’t have to talk unless you want to, but if you do, I want you to know that I’m really interested in what you have to say.”

Aeron remained silent, watching Caroline tap her fingers against her stocking-clad knees. Finally, he said, “It wasn’t his fault.”

“Whose? Kol’s?”

“Klaus was angry at him, but it wasn’t his fault.”

“I know that, Aeron,” said Caroline. “If Klaus seemed angry, it was only because he was surprised and worried, and he gets a bit loud when he’s either of those things. He wanted to protect you, so he took it out on Kol. But I’m sure he understands that it’s no one’s fault, really. And it’s especially not yours.”

“But it’s my head,” said Aeron. “I can’t … I can’t get away from the memories. I know I’m here, and I know it’s safe, I believe you when you say that it is, but I just can’t … I can’t feel safe. My head … it’s not right.”

“You have flashbacks?” Sensing Aeron’s confusion, she clarified, “You see things that happened in the past, while you’re awake, without any warning? Like you’re getting sucked back into the version of yourself that you were when they happened?”

Aeron looked up, at last. Caroline’s face was right in front of his, her mouth a hard line that didn’t break as he nodded. “I can tuck my magic away so that when I panic I don’t hurt anyone or break anything.”

“But you still get hurt.”

“Only in the memories.”

“Memories can hurt us,” said Caroline. “They hurt like hell, and it’s nothing to be ashamed of."

“Do you see memories that hurt you?”

“Sometimes, yeah. Sometimes they’re memories of bad things, sometimes they’re memories of good things that I can’t have anymore.” Caroline shifted to sit with her legs tucked to the side and leant back, getting more comfortable. “Do you think you can tell me about the memory you just saw? Maybe something about what triggered it, if anything in particular did?”

“It wasn’t Kol’s fault.”

“I know, I know,” Caroline reassured him. “It’s no one’s fault. Do you think you can explain it to me, anyway?”

“I just—Kol was making a joke, I think. He was saying that Klaus would be angry with me about something, I don’t even remember what. He wasn’t serious. But then—I just—I remembered.”

Caroline waited a moment. “Remembered what?” she prompted softly.

“My punishment,” said Aeron. “When I made her angry.”

“Who?”

“My mother.”

Something twitched in Caroline’s neck, but she didn’t move otherwise. “Can you tell me more, or would you rather not?”

“It’s … it’s complicated.”

Caroline spread her arms wide, indicating the empty room. “We have plenty of privacy, and plenty of time.”

“I can try and tell you.”

“Tell me what?”

Aeron took a deep breath, letting it out through his nose. “Everything.”

———

Everything turned out to be easier than Aeron thought. Once he started, the words didn’t stop until he was confessing his escape, and what the monster had done to his wing, and how he could never fly now, would never be able to fly, not even if someone cared enough to teach him.

“I was ready to die,” said Aeron. “I was happy to be free, and I was ready to die. But then Hope was there, and you came to carry me inside, and I just … didn’t die. I wasn’t expecting to survive. I don’t think I was meant to. And sometimes … sometimes I wonder if it’s all a trick. If maybe I’m just here so that I have something good to compare the horror to, because I don’t know if I could go back now. I’d rather die than go back.”

“Do you think the monster will come for you here?”

“I think Hybern will command it,” said Aeron. “I think they’ll come for me, and they’ll break the wards, and they’ll kill you all for daring to help me.”

“We won’t let them hurt you—”

“You can’t promise that.”

“You’re right,” Caroline acknowledged. “You’re right, I can’t promise. But I can tell you that we have power, and we will use all of it to keep you safe. And if they come here, and they get you, I can promise you that if my heart is still beating, I will find a way to get you and bring you home. I promise.”

Aeron’s throat began to ache, like his heart was lodged in it and pressing upward. When he spoke, his voice was hoarse. “Why would you do that for me? You don’t owe me anything.”

“It’s not about what’s owed, or what’s earned,” said Caroline. She reached out with one hand, slowly to give Aeron a chance to bat it away, before finally resting it against his cheek. “You’re a child, Aeron. And children all have the same rights. Safety is a right, not a privilege, but it is my privilege to provide this right for you.”

“You really mean that.” It was a statement, not a question.

Caroline thumbed away a tear Aeron hadn’t noticed falling. “Yes, I do. And you can check inside my head if you need to.”

“I don’t need to,” said Aeron. “I believe you.” He sniffed, trying to stop his tears.

Caroline removed her hand and leaned toward a low table beside the sofa, fetching a box of disposable handkerchiefs and handing one to him to wipe his face with.

“I think,” began Aeron, his hands shaking as he bunched the napkin into a ball in his fist. He made himself look up and meet Caroline’s gaze. “I think I might like to stay.”

Caroline’s smile was blinding. “I think I’d like that, too.”

 

* * *

 

_Now …_

For a moment, the sky had been the same shade of blue as Josie’s eyes.

It darkened, naturally, to cobalt, like the nail polish she’d once stolen from Caroline’s dresser and painted love-hearts on her SH book with. The moon had risen, Hope could tell—her blood sang to her, beating a rhythm against her neck, her wrists, everywhere there was a pulse to lash at her skin. But she wouldn’t begin to transform until it was nearly at its apex, that much she knew.

She had a long wait ahead of her.

 

* * *

 

_Then …_

Even after months at the Armory, Aeron still became exhausted at the slightest exertion. Confessing his entire life’s story to Caroline qualified, apparently.

This exhaustion led him to napping through the afternoon, and it was dark out when he woke to a tapping at his door. He no longer propped the chair up beneath it to keep people out, so he simply sat up in bed and called out, “Come in.”

The door yawned open to reveal Hope, tray full of hot food in hand. She was barefoot and loose-haired, and had only a light jacket on over her tights and t-shirt. “I have your dinner,” she said. “If you grab a blanket to keep warm, you can come and have it with me outside.”

“Where?” Aeron couldn’t remember seeing any tables on his trips outdoors.

“Under the moon,” Hope said as though it was obvious. “I normally go out with Dad, but I asked if you could accompany me instead. He said it was all right, and Caroline made me bring food for you. So, here we are. Are you coming or not?”

Struck dumb, Aeron could only nod as he stood and searched for the pair of sandals Caroline had found for him.

Hope snorted. “You don’t wear shoes under the full moon,” she said, yet again as though this was common knowledge. And perhaps it was, and he just wasn’t common enough to know it. She didn’t say anything else, just turned on her heel.

 

* * *

 

_Now …_

When the sky was as dark as it was going to get, Hope stood and shucked off her clothes. She only had what she’d been wearing when they’d taken her, and she didn’t intend to wreck it once she turned. She bundled it all up, panties and tights tucked into her heavy jacket, and tucked it in a corner where she hoped it wouldn’t get damaged.

Naked but for her wedding ring, Hope found herself removing that, too. She knew it would only break if she kept wearing it, but the absence of it left her colder than the removal of her clothes had.

Ignoring the part of her that was disgusted at the prospect, Hope sat down on the mossy ground to look up at the sky once more. She drew her knees to her chest and folded her arms atop them, resting her chin in the crook of one of her elbows.

It was going to be a long night, but it hadn’t even started yet.

 

* * *

 

_Then …_

As Aeron followed Hope through the halls he worried, briefly, that they might run into someone. Hope took him through a complicated route confidently, past all the pictures and paintings on the walls and down into service corridors with squeaky linoleum floors. Finally they arrived in the kitchen, Hope leading Aeron past the people cleaning up and out the back door, down some steps and finally onto the grass.

Aeron ignored the urge to stand still and let his toes curl into the wet, dewy grass beneath his feet. He padded on after Hope, who had the tray of food balanced in one hand as she pranced along toward the back fence of the property.

“Should we be leaving the grounds?” Aeron called after her, doubling his pace. “There aren’t any wards out there.”

Hope turned back to look at him, still walking as she did. “You don’t need wards,” she said. “You’ll have me.” Just as he was about to offer to take the tray from her so she could scale the fence, Hope vaulted over it, landing deftly on the other side without disturbing a single item on the tray.

Aeron’s trip over the fence was markedly less graceful, but he managed it. He didn’t feel quite the same panic when leaving the wards as he had that time with Caroline some weeks ago, knowing that what Hope had said was true: she was a first-born Mikaelson witch and a werewolf to boot, and the twins had told him what that meant about her power. Besides, Caroline and Klaus would probably hear them if they screamed from out here, and they’d get there fast enough.

Not to mention Aeron’s own magic, which he had deliberately avoided tapping into over the past months.

“Where did you say were were going, again?” Aeron asked, a little out of breath as he struggled to keep up with her. They were roughly the same height, but she was lighter and more sure-footed than him.

“I didn’t,” said Hope. “But we’re not far.”

And she wasn’t lying; they came to a halt by a tree soon after, and Hope finally handed him the tray. “Pass it up after me,” she said, and pulled herself up one branch. Aeron did as she instructed, struggling to keep the tray level. Hope balanced on the branch and tucked the tray up on a broader one above, then leapt up beside it. “Are you coming?” she asked him, settling back against the trunk with the tray now on her lap.

Aeron knew he could say no. He didn’t really want to say yes, but something about how she smirked down at him, holding his apple in the palm of her hand, made him pull himself up the first branch, arms shaking with the effort.

Hope made no comment as he struggled to get up to the same height as her, simply watched with hooded eyes and tensely set shoulders that belied how ready she was to dive and catch him if he fell.

Finally sitting on the branch across from Hope, Aeron straddled it and reached for the tray, laying it between them. Dinner consisted of rice and a mild curry he had come to like, full of vegetables and chicken and spices. The only drink was bottled water, and the apple seemed to have been claimed by Hope, who chomped into it and groaned.

“This is a good apple,” she said, then looked back to Aeron. “Go on, eat your food before it gets cold. Well, colder.”

Aeron tucked in, devouring the snowpeas and carrot first.

“Is it good?”

Aeron nodded, mouth full of food. It was rude to talk with your mouth full, Caroline had instructed. His table manners weren’t perfect, but she and Klaus sat to dinner with him in their rooms regularly and helped teach him. He could use cutlery with little trouble now, which was something.

Hope kept munching on her apple, thoughtfully, and then held up at arm’s length and smirked.

“What is it?’ asked Aeron.

“My mom used to show me how to turn apples into moons,” said Hope. “You can eat it into the different phases, right down to a crescent if you’re game enough to eat the core. I just cut that part out, though.”

“Just to turn it into a crescent moon?”

“Well, I am a Crescent Wolf, after all,” said Hope. “Here, let me show you.” She snatched the blunt knife from his tray and began slipping it into the flesh of the half-eaten apple. She carved the core from the center, dropping it onto the tray, then snipped off the stem for good measure. She handed it to Aeron, who took it gingerly. “Now hold it against the moon.”

Aeron did as she instructed, pivoting so he could hold it against the sky. The silhouette of the apple in his fingers against the white of the full moon indeed made it look like a crescent moon in a world inverted, where the sky was light and the moon was a spot of darkness within it.

“Neat, huh?”

Nodding, Aeron handed it back to her. She held it up against the moon once, then chomped through the middle of it, dropping the remaining pieces onto the tray and licking her fingers.

“Do you come out here a lot?” asked Aeron. He knew, from the twins, that she came out whenever the moon was full, but she could come out on other nights, too.

“Dad doesn’t want me out past the wards alone,” said Hope. “So we mostly come out on full moons, yeah.”

“Why did he let you come out here with me?”

“He likes you, I guess.”

Aeron couldn’t remember saying all of two words to Klaus. “Why?”

Hope raised an eyebrow. “Is that really so weird to think?” She laughed at his deadpan expression. “Dad probably identifies with you, a little. He doesn’t talk about it much, but Mom told me that his dad used to hurt him when he was a kid. I know it made an impact on him, more than he lets me see. He tries so hard to protect me because he doesn’t even want me to be afraid like he was his whole childhood. I guess, seeing you all beat up like you were, Klaus remembered what it was like when he was the same. Minus the wings.”

“We’re not that similar.” Klaus was strong and powerful, confident and content. He was everything Aeron wasn’t, everything he’d never be.

“True. He didn’t have a Caroline to save him from his tormentors. You do.”

 _Caroline didn’t save me,_ Aeron wanted to say. _She never would’ve known I was even out here if you hadn’t found me first._ “Do you always come out to this tree on full moons?”

“Crabapples are good for climbing,” Hope said. “There are plenty of those around here, but this one’s my favourite.”

“But I didn’t winnow in around here. How did you find me from here that night?” _And why were you out here without your father?_

“I don’t know, I just did,” said Hope. “I’m a witch. We get weird instincts sometimes, and we’re taught just to follow them. My Aunt Bonnie won the lottery once because she got a really strong urge to buy a ticket. I found you because something pulled me right to where you were.”

“Why wasn’t Klaus out here with you that night?”

“He was in New Orleans,” Hope explained. “That’s where my brother Marcel lives. There was an issue with some witches and Dad had to go help out with little warning. He told me not to come out here.”

“But you did anyway.”

“I haven’t missed a full moon since I was a baby.”

“But you could’ve stayed on the grounds, where the wards are.”

Hope shrugged. “My favourite tree is out here.”

Aeron supposed that was as good a reason as any. And if Hope was as powerful as they said, there wasn’t really any cause for concern. Not that it was his place to be concerned to begin with.

“And your father wasn’t angry with you for disobeying him?”

Hope grinned. “Our conversation when he got back here was something along the lines of _I’m glad you found him, but I’m furious that you were in a position to find him in the first place_. I told him it was just witchy stuff that brought me out there, but he could tell I’d been out there for the full moon first. I was grounded for a while, no big deal.”

“Grounded?”

“Yeah. It’s … not allowed to go out with friends, or use my phone, or the internet for anything other than homework. It was only for a week.”

“He traps you inside?”

“No, no. I’m not trapped. I can go outside and stuff. I just can’t do really fun things, like going to see a movie with friends or going shopping with any of my aunts. But only for the week, then it’s over. It’s barely even a punishment.”

Before Aeron could stop himself, he asked, “Is that why you didn’t come and see me?”

Hope bit her lip. “I … no, not really. I think he would’ve let me if I’d asked.”

Aeron nodded tightly, trying to hide that it hurt.

“But it wasn’t that I didn’t want to see you,” said Hope. “I just … I guess I was afraid that you didn’t want to see me. You were so broken up and I didn’t know what to do, and I knew that Aunt Keelin and Caroline would know how to help you but I couldn’t see what I could do—I’m terrible at healing spells, you know—so I just … didn’t want to bother you.”

“Josie came,” said Aeron.

“Josie lives to bother people.” Hope dropped her smile, sobering. “If you … if you wanted me to come, then I’m sorry that I didn’t. I really thought you didn’t need to see me, so you wouldn’t want to.”

“I didn’t … I didn’t not want to see you,” said Aeron.

Hope’s smile was radiant in the moonlight. “Well, good,” she said. “I don’t not want to see you, either. Now shut up and look at the moon with me.”

Finished with his meal, Aeron turned on the branch to face the moon more fully. They stared at it for the longest time in comfortable silence until, finally, something occurred to Aeron and he couldn’t stop his smile.

“What is it?” asked Hope.

“I’ll have to tell Josie,” said Aeron, “that I’ve found my silver lining.”

“Ugh, don’t tell me she tries to play that game with you, too.” Hope laughed. “Well, come on then, don’t leave me in suspense. What’s your silver lining?”

Aeron remembered all those days and nights trapped in the dark with no hope that he could ever leave it. He remembered, and though it hurt, the memories did not trap him as he gazed up at the moon and said, “My silver lining is that I can see the sky at all.”

 

* * *

 

 _Now_ …

Naked and shivering, Hope stared up through the crack in the stone to find the moon looking down at her, full and at its zenith. A wisp of cloud held the moon in its palm, a delicate line of silver tracing the outer edges.

And not a bit of pain was in her. 

No cracking bones, no tearing muscle and sinew. Nothing.

Hope crawled over to her clothing and pulled the jacket out, tucking it around herself as her breath came in shudders. 

She hadn’t turned. It was well past the time when she should’ve but she hadn’t, and she had no idea why.

She had no moonlight ring, no magic to keep her werewolf side dormant. There was nothing that could’ve stopped her from turning.

Except that there was one thing that could, that had been stopping werewolves from turning for as long as they’d been cursed.

Wrapped in her jacket, Hope fell back to the floor, looking up at the moon, its light a mocking caress over her face. She rested a trembling hand over her belly, gooseflesh rising all over her skin, not at the cold, but at the sudden realisation.

There was only one thing that could have stopped her from turning.

_Pregnancy._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Vol. 2 will be up in the next few days, so stay tuned!

**Author's Note:**

> Find me in the dumpster fire that is my Tumblr blog @flo-lore-writes


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